Ready to Royally Rumble
by Bob Wright
Summary: The world championship is on the line in the Royal Rumble, and alliances will be strained when it's every man for himself. NOW COMPLETED.
1. Chapter 1

READY TO ROYALLY RUMBLE

BY BOB WRIGHT

AUTHOR'S NOTE: As you can see, this is the Royal Rumble story. I hope the Rumble as written out will be satisfactory for all of you.

Again, all wrestlers' in-ring personas are registered trademarks of World Wrestling Entertainment, Inc. And now, sit back and enjoy the story...

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><p>NOT THAT LONG AGO, IN AN ARENA NOT THAT FAR AWAY...<p>

"A new year is upon us, and the World Wrestling Federation is poised to take the great sport of wrestling to new heights over the course of this year, starting with the biggest brawl of them all, the Royal Rumble. We're coming to you here live on beautiful Miami Beach, it's eighty degrees and sunny, and the action will be just as just as hot and heavy this coming Sunday, when the Royal Rumble will once again air on pay-per-view. We welcome you all to our special Prime Time Wrestling Royal Rumble preview show; Gorilla Monsoon here along with Bobby 'the Brain' Heenan, once again out of uniform," Monsoon frowned at his partner, decked out in a loud Hawaiian shirt and straw hat, merrily sipping away on a margarita, "and are you even listening to what I'm saying, Brain?"

"Not until you introduce my friend and our other co-host, Greenberg the Parrot, in from Jamaica," Heenan patted the green stuffed parrot on his shoulder. He then pulled a string on the parrot's back to move its beak and mumbled through closed lips in a faux Jamaican accent, "It's really good to be here, wrestling fans; I just flew in from Kingston, and boy, my wings are tired."

"Oh brother," Monsoon rolled his eyes in disgust, "As if putting up with you wasn't bad enough, Brain..."

"Watch it, brother," "Greenberg" scolded him, "Jamaican me crazy, mon."

"Will you stop!" Monsoon upbraided the stuffed parrot. "At any rate, this year's Royal Rumble should be one for the ages," he turned back to the camera, "In an agreement forged between World Wrestling Federation President Jack Tunney and WWF world champion Hulk Hogan, the world title will be on the line in the Rumble this year. As you all know, the Royal Rumble starts with two men in the ring, and every two minutes thereafter, another participant is added until all thirty entrants have entered the ring; a wrestler can only be eliminated by being thrown over the top rope, with both feet touching the floor. And the last man standing this year will then be crowned as WWF world champion."

"This is the smartest thing Hogan's done in a long time, maybe in his whole career, right Greenberg?" Heenan asked his "guest." "Oh yeah, Bobby," he made the parrot answer, "Hogan's held the belt way too long; it's good that he's basically giving up the title."

"Well, Greenberg," Monsoon rolled his eyes to be having an analytical discussion with a stuffed parrot, "From my point of view, Hulk Hogan would not have agreed to have put the title on the line if he wasn't completely convinced he could win it back."

"Which isn't going to happen, Monsoon; even if he cheats to get number thirty, he can't survive against everyone else," Heenan predicted confidently.

"Only time will tell, Brain. The field for the Rumble has been set with the seeding of the top twenty-nine challengers for the world championship that will join the Hulkster in the ring, and these are the finalists that will compete."

He turned to the screen behind them. "Besides Hulk Hogan himself, participating from the Mega Powers Rock 'n Wrestling Connection are 'Macho Man' Randy Savage, Andre the Giant, 'Rowdy' Roddy Piper, and Tito Santana. Among their sworn enemies in the Million Dollar Corporation chosen to compete are these finalists: 'Nature Boy' Ric Flair, the Million Dollar Man Ted DiBiase, Jake 'the Snake' Roberts, the Undertaker, Earthquake, and your guy Mr. Perfect."

"I don't mean to brag, but I'd say Perfect's the easy favorite to win the Rumble," Heenan said proudly, "Not only does he have the skills, the tenure with the gold as Intercontinental champion, and the fastest feet in the business, but I'll say again so the humanoids understand it, he's simply...perfect."

"Brain, he's not perfect, I'm not perfect, you're certainly not perfect, the parrot's not perfect; no one's perfect," Monsoon reminded him, "And outside of these two bitterly rival factions here in the WWF, many of the other entrants have just as legitimate a shot to win the gold. For example, also participating is that erstwhile hopeful for the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection, the Ultimate Warrior, and maybe a win here would finally get him in."

"He can dream on, Gorilla; Hogan's ego forbids anyone as powerful as he leading the Connection," "Greenberg" scoffed.

"Listen, one more word out of you, buster, and Polly's going to get an especially large cracker-a firecracker, that is-shoved right down your throat," Monsoon waved a threatening finger in the stuffed parrot's face.

"Hey, that's no way to treat a guest in this country, Monsoon," Heenan protested.

"Will you stop! Anyway, also participating in the Royal Rumble will be the following top contenders: Brutus 'the Barber' Beefcake, Yokozuna, the Honky Tonk Man, the Texas Tornado, Hercules, 'Hacksaw' Jim Duggan, 'the Model' Rick Martel, and 'Cowboy' Bob Orton. In addition, several tag teams will be participating, and yes, if one of their members wins, he will be world champion. So, rounding out the field is Ax and Smash of Demolition, Luke and Butch of the Bushwhackers, Brian Knobbs and Jerry Saggs of the Nasty Boys, Shawn Michaels and Marty Jannetty of the Rockers, and the Powers of Pain, the Warlord and the Barbarian."

"I don't know how the Bushwhackers got into this one; they don't have enough brains to compete for the world championship, let alone the tag team one," Heenan griped, "I'd be happy to switch them out for someone like the Islanders or the Brainbusters if..."

"Sure, Brain, anything to support your guys over everyone else. And so you know, Ted DiBiase's shenanigans notwithstanding, bribery does not go here in the World Wrestling Federation, so you can forget any idea of paying Jack Tunney off to get the gold. However, much as it pains me to say it, you also have a shot at the Intercontintal gold at the Rumble, as your guy 'Ravishing' Rick Rude will face the champion 'Hitman' Bret Hart in a ladder match; for those of you unaware how it would work, the Intercontinental belt will be attached to a pole above the ring, and the winner will be whoever can climb up a ladder to retrive it. The caveat, though, is that the ladder can also be used as a weapon during the match by either man if they so choose."

"And that's why we've got to be careful; Bret Hart's too much of a cheater not to resort to excessive use of the ladder at some point. But it won't matter; I've got Rick all ready to go, and the Intercontinental gold's coming back to the Heenan Family, I guarantee it," the Brain predicted.

"You tell him, Bobby," "Greenberg" then encouraged him, "You're not the best manager in wrestling for nothing, after all."

"Well, you two, I've heard some rather interesting rumors coming out of the Heenan Family, that Mr. Perfect was in fact rather upset that he wasn't going to get a crack at 'his' Intercontinental title, and was only placated by knowing he had a shot at the world title," Monsoon told Heenan and his "friend" with raised eyebrows.

"All spec, Monsoon, nothing but rubbish; Mr. Perfect was quite happy to share the honor to ensure there would be two titles in the Heenan Family," the Brain inisted firmly.

"We shall see there, Brain. Also on the line are the tag team belts, as champions Legion of Doom will defend against the Mega Mercenaries, the Iron Sheik and Nikolai Volkoff. In other tag team matchups, we'll see the Killer Bees, B. Brian Blair and Jumping Jim Brunzell, in action for the first time since that sneak attack by the Nasty Boys and Powers of Pain that cost them their spot in the Survivor Series; they will be facing the Headshrinkers, Samu and Fatu. And in six man action, the team of Ricky 'the Dragon' Steamboat, the British Bulldog, and the Big Boss Man will face all three members of Mr. Fuji's Orient Express, Kato, Tanaka, and Sato."

"You talk about being upset about not getting the shot at the world title; from what I hear, Steamboat, the Boss Man, and the Bulldog are ticked off they won't get the shot since they signed the match with the Orient Express before it was announced the title was on the line," Heenan remarked smugly.

"Now where did you hear that, Brain? Because that's not what I've been hearing."

"Oh, a little bird told him, Monsoon," "Greenberg" answered smarmily.

"Oh brother," Monsoon rolled his eyes again, "How did I get myself into this-don't say it," he warned Heenan and his "friend." "The final match on the card looks to be a real barnburner," he continued, "As you know, Razor Ramon and Greg 'the Hammer' Valentine were the sole survivors on their team at Survivor Series. Shortly thereafter, though, Valentine started claiming he was the driving force behind the Model's Marauders, and that Ramon made no sizeable contributions to the success. Ramon took offense to this and asked him to stop it, but Valentine only escalated the rhetoric, until we got to this showdown on Piper's Pit," he turned back to the monitor as the relevant footage came up on the screen...

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><p><em>"...all through the Survivor Series, I fought the hard fight, and I came out on top even though everyone was rooting against me," the Hammer bragged to Piper on the Piper's Pit set, "I alone stood tall and proud, despite what that coattail-hanger-on Razor Ramon says." <em>

_"Hold the phone, did you really say what I think you just did?" Piper ranted at him, "Let me remind you, buster, Razor Ramon was still standing at the end of the Survivor Series too, and he made his share of eliminations as well-or do you just need a lobotomy, Valentine?" _

_"You might just get a pounding if you don't get off my case, Piper," Valentine warned him, "And if you think I'm going to share my moment of glory with a guy who's probably in this country illegally, you've got something else coming. And furthermore..." _

_He stopped as a furious Ramon stormed through the doorway onto the Piper's Pit set. "Well, well, looks like somebody doesn't like being told they don't belong in the country," Piper smirked, "So, Ramon, anything you want to say to your partner here?" _

_He held the microphone to Ramon's face. "OK, chico, now you're hitting below the belt, man," Ramon snarled in the Hammer's face, "First off, I come to this country fairly; second, all I want to do is achieve the American Dream, a good life and all the success that comes with it. And what do you do, chico? You break the rules to get ahead; you wouldn't be surviving if your little nobody of a manager here," he jerked a contemptuous finger at Jimmy Hart, now taking shelter behind his charge, "Hadn't interfered to eliminate all the people you say you took out..." _

_"You know what I think, CHICO, you're just plain jealous!" Valentine shot back in Ramon's face, "You're jealous that the Hammer has all the power and all the charisma, and all you got is a big pile of JACK SQUAT!" _

_"Oh no, you did not just say that," rage spread over Ramon's face as he grabbed Valentine by the robe, "Well, Mr. Hammer, I got the machismo, and you are the one who got nothing. And for the record, nobody, and I mean nobody, talks to Razor Ramon like the way you are. So you either say you're sorry now, or you're going to feel pain like..." _

_But it was he who was left feeling pain, as it was this point that Jimmy crept up from behind and smashed him in the back of the head with his megaphone, sending Ramon toppling to the floor. "What the hell is this!" Piper roared, "You're out of your mind...!" _

_Valentine shoved the Scotsman to the floor, then started kicking Ramon mercilessly on the floor. "Beautiful, Hammer baby, beautiful!" Jimmy eagerly goaded him on through the megaphone, "Teach this ingrate a lesson he'll never forget, baby, teach him a lesson he'll never forget!" _

_Valentine obliged, picking up a table and smashing it over the prostrate Ramon, then dropping an elbow on him and dishing out a few more kicks before Piper, irate, charged towards them waving a mace. "Out, out, out!" the Scotsman roared at them. _

_"Come on, Greg, baby, our work's done anyway," Jimmy told his charge, leading a smug Valentine out the archway to intense booing while Piper bent down to assist the fallen Ramon... _

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><p>"Fortunately, Razor Ramon wasn't badly injured, and I'd have to say this has turned out worse for Greg Valentine in the end, as now he has the Bad Guy as his mortal enemy," Monsoon theorized, "It was only natural then that the two of them would then be booked to face each other at the Rumble, and they will settle the score for good this Sunday. Now I...Brain?" he glanced around, for his partner had left the broadcast position during the piece, "NOW where'd you run off too?"<p>

Abruptly, a large beach ball hit him square in the face. "Serve!" Heenan called from off camera, "You were supposed to hit it back."

"WILL YOU STOP!" Monsoon flung the beach ball back at him-and got it thrown into his face again. Grinning, Heenan picked it up and started bouncing it off his partner's head. "No one can accuse you of being on the ball, Monsoon, right Greenberg?" he asked the parrot.

"You tell him, Bobby," "Greenberg" chuckled. Monsoon roared in frustration. "That's the Royal Rumble as it has been drawn up," he said as calmly as he could, ignoring the ball still bouncing off his head, "The wrestlers should be arriving here in Miami Beach very soon, so look for them if you live in this area. And don't forget to call your local cable company and tell them you want to see the Royal Rumble this Sunday night. When we return to Prime Time Wrestling after this brief break, you'll see the Rocket Owen Hart in action against Kamala...will you get that blasted ball out of here, Brain...!"


	2. Chapter 2

"...Cinderella story, down ten points, he's come out of nowhere to have a shot at the title. This is his last serve; the crowd is about to go crazy..."

"Come on, Roddy; it's only a volleyball game; not the Masters," Hulk Hogan called out from across the net, "How about that serve now?"

"All right, if you insist on doing it now," Roddy Piper shrugged. He flung the ball up in the air and punched it over the other side as hard as he could, where an alert Ricky Steamboat returned it straight towards Andre the Giant, who hit a hard return of his own-one that sailed well over the heads of everyone and well into the surf. "ANDRE!" they all glared at him.

"Sorry," Andre grimaced, "I guess I still don't know my own strength even today."

"Well, not to worry. Mathilda, go fetch it girl," Davey Boy Smith unhooked his pet from the nearest palm tree and pointed in the direction the volleyball had flown. With a strong wagging of her tail, Mathilda bustled off like a windup toy towards the waves. The British Bulldog inhaled deeply. "Nothing like a warm tropical sun in the middle of January," he exclaimed out loud, "I'm so glad they chose to have the Rumble in Miami this year."

"Amen to that, brother," Hulk agreed, plopping down on the sand until the ball returned, "At least we can enjoy ourselves before the Rumble with warmer weather."

"Not to mention all the lovely ladies South Florida can offer," Piper oodled a pair of passing blondes.

"Oh really, Roddy," Andre smirked at him.

"Hey, you know, unlike some of you guys, I'm not married right now, so I CAN dream," Piper pointed out, "And besides, you know I have the charisma, the non-Ric flair for greatness, and when I'm the next WWF champion, the power..."

"Dream on, amigo; I'm going to be the champion," Tito Santana stuck his head under the net, "I've been training the hardest..."

"Sorry, charlie, but I predict very firmly that Macho Madness is going to win the day tomorrow; in fact, I positively guarantee it, ooooooh yeah!" Randy Savage walked fully around the net, flexing his muscles, "And I don't care what..."

"Hogan!" came the unwelcome voice from the direction of the street. Both Hulk and Savage slapped their hands to their faces and mumbled, "Oh no!" in unison. "Tunney should've sent _him_ to Russia; then if he never came back, no big deal..." the latter grumbled under his breath.

"I'll handle it, Randy," Hulk wearily turned to again face the ever-persistent Ultimate Warrior, looking more muscularly ripped than ever at the moment. "We're in the middle of a game, Warrior, so..." he started to say.

"You cannot run away from me any longer, Hulk Hogan!" the Warrior bellowed at the top of his lungs, raising his arms skyward, "Tomorrow, at the Royal Rumble, my destiny will finally come to pass...!"

"I'd much rather see a kidney stone get passed, yeah," Savage muttered under his breath. The Warrior either didn't hear him or ignored him. "I will defeat all comers, and when I am standing alone in the ring, annointed by the gods as the new world champion, you all will have no choice but to let me join you, even to let me lead you, for that is what the gods have ordained!" he ranted at the entire Connection.

"Warrior, how many times must we tell you, we're not taking any new members at this point in time, and if you keep on bothering us, we'll ask Jack Tunney to take disciplinary action against you, all right?" a very frustrated Bret Hart approached the Warrior, his arms folded across his chest.

"You cannot stop what is written in the stars!" the Warrior ranted defiantly, "The planets have aligned for me, and..."

"Hulkster, everyone, if I may," came the welcome voice of Gene Okerlund. The interviewer was trudging his way across the sand from a limousine that had parked by the curb, "We'd like to have some pre-Rumble remarks if we can-same from you, Warrior," he told the facepainted wrestler, causing everyone else to groan at the inability to get rid of him.

"It will be an honor, Gene, for I shall be the Ultimate Winner at the Rumble!" the Warrior declared. Even Okerlund looked uncomfortable as he waited for the camera operator to get all set. "All right, wrestling fans," he said into the camera once everything was ready, "We have tracked down many of the participants in the Royal Rumble here on Miami Beach, and have the opportunity to ask them how they feel going into the big event. Hulk Hogan, do you feel any regret or second thoughts about allowing the title to be placed on the line in the Rumble?"

"Well you know something, Mean Gene, the..." Hulk started to say, but the Warrior jumped in front of him. "At the Royal Rumble, my destiny will at last be fulfilled!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, making Okerlund and the cameraman both grimace, "I will finally reach the top of the mountain and become World Wrestling Federation champion, and gain admittance to...!"

"Wait your turn, hot dog!" Savage roughly dragged the Warrior back out of frame from the home viewers. "Uh, yes, some salient comments from the Ultimate Warrior about his chances in the Royal Rumble," Okerlund recovered his composure, "As I was saying, Hulk Hogan, do you feel any trepidation that you may not have the belt after the Royal Rumble?"

"As I was saying, Mean Gene," Hulk shot a glare at the Warrior as Savage dumped him upside-down into a garbage can at the edge of the beach, "The American way is fair play, and I agreed with Jack Tunney it was in the interests of the WWF to give a whole bunch of other contenders a fair shot at the title. But all the little Hulksters out there need not worry, because I can guarantee that the prayers, the training, and the vitamins will again lift me to the top, and the last thing they'll see is before the final fadeout is me once again holding the belt high, definitively world champion yet again."

"All right, a confident champion here; Macho Man, if I may get the other half of the Mega Powers next," Okerlund turned to Savage as he returned, "You also are listed as one of the favorites in the Royal Rumble; do you feel you have a good shot of winning the gold?"

"Well, Gene Okerlund, let me say just that I've been training hard for this moment ever since it was announced the belt would be on the line, yeah," Savage declared, "And I just know that Macho Madness will prove itself the strongest force in the universe tomorrow night, and I'll finally be the champion of the world, yeah! And I can guarantee the win because I've gotten the best training from the best manager in all of wrestling, my bride, the one and only Elizabeth," he gently nudged her forward, "If anyone deserves the world title, it's her, and I'm gonna get it for her at the Rumble, ooooooh yeah!"

"All right, and Elizabeth, do you think your man here is ready?" Okerlund asked her.

"As ready as we can be, Gene," she told him with a small smile, "I think Randy has a good chance of winning..."

"Good chance nothing; we're going all the way, yeah!" Savage raised her arm in triumph with a grin. "You saw it here, folks; both Mega Powers certain of victory. And now, Andre the Giant; Andre, you've had a long and storied career here in the WWF, and yet, you've never really had a title shot before," Okerlund approached the Giant next, "Clearly you have to be another favorite in the Rumble; how do you think...?"

Off to the side, unseen by Okerlund as he conducted his interview, Davey was scowling, a look of unmistakable jealousy crossing his face at those being interviewed. "It's just not fair," he mumbled to Ricky Steamboat and the Big Boss Man on his left and right, "We should have a chance to go for the gold too."

"Yes indeed," the Boss Man was scowling too, "Why'd they have to wait so long to say the gold would be on the line; we'd never have signed our match if we would have had the shot for the world title."

"Nope," the British Bulldog shook his head darkly, "There's got to be some way we can get out of the match with the Orient Express; maybe somebody would be willing to step aside for us. Certainly we're all just as good..."

"Well, from what I hear, Jack Tunney's going to be holding the order drawing for the Rumble at the Surfcomber at six," Steamboat pointed out, "Maybe if we got there first and tried to get out of the deal with Fuji, he'd have no choice but..."

"Save that thought, Dragon; looks like trouble coming our way," the Boss Man was frowning at a series of limos now driving out onto the sand directly towards the Connection. Their teammates and Okerlund all saw them as well and quickly rushed out of the way before the lead one crashed into their volleyball net, toppling it. "WOOOO!" came the unwelcome cry of Ric Flair as he climbed out of the lead limo, "What a day! Sun, surf, and a whole bunch of losers pandering to the press on the beach," he glared the Connection down. With a flourish of doors opening, the rest of the Million Dollar Corporation climbed out of the other limos and glared their foes down.

"Flair, we're busy right now," Hulk glared into the Nature Boy's face, "And we were playing a game before the interview started..."

"You're done the game!" the massive Earthquake grabbed the net and poles and flung them far into the surf. "All right, Earthquake, you owe us another net!" Andre stormed up to his equally large opponent.

"Make me, you so-called giant!" the Walking Natural Disaster threatened him.

"Besides, why waste your time on a peasant's game? We play more cultured sports, like polo," Ted DiBiase laughed as he stepped forward, bodyguard Virgil directly in front of him, scowling.

"Well, while you and your colleagues are here, Ted DiBiase, what do you think your odds are in the Royal Rumble?" Okerlund held the microphone to his face.

"Okerlund, you don't have to waste your time asking the question; tomorrow night, the Million Dollar Man will finally be champion of the world," DiBiase bragged into the camera, "All these years, Hogan turned down my generous offer to buy it, saying I had to beat him fairly to get it, and now, that so-called fair chance is coming. I WILL get the belt, Hogan," he pointed contemptuously at the champion, "and finally you WILL bow down at my feet and tell me..."

"Oh no, Ted; I'M going to be champion!" Flair pushed his way onto camera, "I've got more talent in this little finger," he held up his pinky, "then you have in...!"

"Flair, you're just hot air," DiBiase countered, "Everyone knows that..."

"It's I that will be champion!" Earthquake glared them both down, "I'll throw everyone of you out of the ring, then squash all of you for good measure!"

_"You're all wrong_," came the soft hiss of the Undertaker, still attired in his usual black trench coat despite the summer-like heat of the beach, "_I will stand alone at the end of the Royal Rumble, with twenty-nine new plots to dig." _

"Sorry brother, but this time you're going down," Jake the Snake stepped forward, glaring at his closest friend, "For the world title, I'll happily slam you down to the DDT, and this time Bearer won't be around to revive you. But first," he snickered towards the Connection in front of him, "I'll take care of all of you that dare to stand in my way. And after I've won," his eyes turned lecherously towards Elizabeth, "I'll get an extra reward for my efforts..."

"You go anywhere near her Rumble night, and they'll carry you out of Miami Arena in pieces!" Savage stepped in front of her and waved his fist threateningly at Roberts, "I ain't forgotten what you tried to do in that funeral parlor basement, Snakeman, and you've got the beatdown of a lifetime coming your way courtesy of Macho Madness, yeah!"

"I'm not scared of you, Savage, and I'll spare the trouble if you want to go now," Roberts shoved him roughly.

"You bet I want to go now; I'll go with you and every last one of your friends here, oooooooh yeah!" Savage shoved him back.

"Good, because I've wanted to beat you all good for a while!" Earthquake stepped forward, flexing his muscles. The two teams stepped forward towards each other, ready to brawl...

"Stop!" came the shout of WWF President Jack Tunney, who was now rushing across the sand from the limo Okerlund had arrived in. "Stop it, all of you!" he ordered both teams, stepping between them, "I've told you before, I want all fighting done in the wrestling ring in this company!"

"Just let me have one piece of the guy, Mr. Tunney, just one piece of him!" Savage begged, pointing at Roberts.

"No, Randy; save it for the Rumble," Tunney admonished him. "Now, all of you, you weren't scheduled to be interviewed now," he turned towards the Million Dollar Corporation with a glare, "So get these cars out of here; as I understand it, you're breaking city ordinance driving them out here for one thing, and I don't want my wrestlers in trouble with the law."

"Oh yeah, God forbid we have any image trouble..." DiBiase muttered under his breath.

"Are we going to have trouble now, Ted?" Tunney glared at him.

"No, no, Mr. Tunney, we were just leaving anyway. Come on boys, we need to be ready for the drawing tonight," DiBiase waved the rest of the Million Dollar Corporation into their limos, which soon backed up off the beach and drove away. "All right, wrestling fans, you saw it right here, lots of bad blood already spilling out in preparation for the Royal Rumble," Okerlund summed everything up for the home viewers, "And who will win it all and be the next World Wrestling Federation world champion? Call your local cable provider and order the Royal Rumble to see. We'll be back after these words."

He breathed a sigh of relief once the cameraman gave him a thumbs-up. "Good thing you brought me along personally, Mr. Tunney, or I could have been caught right in the middle of a war there," he told the company president.

"Anything to keep things cool, Gene, since I don't want any wars that aren't related to signed contracts," Tunney frowned at the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection.

"We're sorry, Mr. Tunney, but they all started it," Hulk insisted.

"I saw that, Hulk, but it would be best for the company and your fans if you didn't give in to their provocations. Anyway, I came along with Gene to request you and Bret turn in the world and Intercontinental belts in preparation for the pay-per-view," Tunney told him.

"Oh, uh, they're back at the hotel, Mr. Tunney; I'll bring them both along before the Rumble draw," Bret offered.

"I'd appreciate that, Hitman. Well, Gene, better head on back and get ready for the draw," Tunney turned to leave.

"Uh, Mr. Tunney, if you would, we'd all like to have a little word with you before you go," Davey spoke up, gesturing at his teammates for the Rumble's six man match.

"Well, I kind of have a lot to do, Davey, but if you and your teammates could come along, I'm sure we can discuss it in full," Tunney gestured towards his limo.

"Thank you Mr, Tunney, we appreciate this," Steamboat told him as the three of them followed the company president towards his car. "What's that all about?" Andre frowned after them.

"I've got a good idea, big guy," Bret was frowning himself, "So maybe it's a good thing I'm going over to the Surfcomber to drop the belts off..."

* * *

><p>"OK, Fuji, let's get down to business," Freddie Blassie rubbed his hands as he sat down at the table inside his hotel room at the Ritz-Carlton across from Mr. Fuji, "By this agreement, you hereby transfer the contracts of the Powers of Pain to yours truly."<p>

"Believe me, Freddie, I hate to let go of such fine talent as the Warlord and Barbarian," Fuji glanced at his soon to be former men in their facepaint and chain mail vests behind him, "But with the Orient Express coming into my care, I find I can only concentrate on one team at a time."

"That's why I'm here, Fuji old pal; to help out my former charge as needed. Anyway, here's the contract," Blassie slid it across the table. Fuji examined it carefully. "Everything appears in order," he nodded, digging out a pen and signing at the bottom. He slid it back to Blassie, who signed it as well. "Congratulations, Freddie, you are now the new manager of the Powers of Pain," the Devious One commended him. "Do not worry, gentlemen; Mr. Blassie will prove just as well for you," he told the Warlord and Barbarian.

"Indeed I shall. Put 'er there, boys," Blassie extended his arm, then grimaced as the Warlord and Barbarian shook it harder than expected. "Strong, very strong; very good," he said quickly. "Well boys, it's good to be managing such fine talent as you," he commended them, "Fuji's done a real good job with you two; I think I can take you to the next level. If the Sheik and Nikolai come up short tonight, I'll make damn sure you two get the next shot at the belt-provided, of course, one of you doesn't win the world title tonight."

"With no offense to my former men's prowess, they won't, Freddie; my Yokozuna will win the Royal Rumble and be world champion," Fuji predicted confidently.

"Well, he clearly is a top contender," Blassie conceded, "And I certainly wouldn't be unhappy if the big boy did walk away with the gold, but he'll have to get by Ric to get it, and let me just say I have the Nature Boy in top shape..."

"Master Fuji, we are ready when you are," Tanaka of the Orient Express stuck his head in the door; behind him, his teammates, Sato and the masked wonder Kato were pacing impatiently in the hallway.

"Yes, men. Well, must get going, Freddie; the Orient Express will be opening the Rumble after all," Fuji told his own former manager.

"Good luck with that, Fuji; if your boys could cripple Steamboat, Smith, and Traylor for good, that would be a load off my mind," Blassie rubbed his hands again at that very thought, "And good luck to your Yokozuna either way; there's always room in the Corporation for an unstoppable force like him."

"As I've said before, Freddie, I have no interest in joining your collective," Fuji shook his head, "But best of luck to you as well anyway. Good luck to you, gentlemen," he bowed to the Powers of Pain in parting, "It has been a pleasure working with you."

He hefted his cane and walked out the door towards his newer tag team. "All right then, men," Blassie turned his attention to the Warlord and Barbarian, "Much as you probably don't want to hear it on your first day with me, I'm not aiming to have either of you win tonight. Your job is to make sure Flair wins if the draw works in our favor. I want the two of you to block for him, get everyone away from him and eliminate them. Then, if it's down to just the three of you in the ring, take the dive for Ric, so the Real World's Champion finally can be real world's champion, got it?"

The Warlord and Barbarian merely grunted in affirmation. "Good," Blassie got up and started pacing, "On the brighter note, like I said, I'll be angling you boys for a tag title shot soon after the pay-per-view. Once we have..."

The phone in his hotel room rang loudly. "Just a minute," he told them, picking it up, "Blassie here..."

"Yes, Mr. Blassie, I have a collect call here from a Mr. K.V. Donalds for you," the operator told him.

"Just a minute," Blassie put the receiver down on the table. "That's all for now, boys; talk to you later," he told the Powers of Pain, who nodded and left the room. Blassie followed them out and started knocking on the next two doors down the hall. "Hart, Martel, Bobby, Paul; he's calling," he called out.

"Already?" Paul Bearer sounded a bit weary as he exited his room, Jimmy Hart in tow, "We've hardly been here six hours already..."

"Well, we know not to keep our benefactor waiting, especially if the cops happen to be tracing the call. Come on," Blassie waved them all into his room. "OK, Operator, patch me through," he told the woman. There was a brief click before the voice of Don Kennedesco Vincenelli came on the line and demanded, "You all here?"

"All here, present and accounted for," Heenan leaned close to the receiver.

"Good. First off, Heenan, ditch the parrot; you made a fool of yourself and my outfit bringing that thing on the air," the don scolded him.

"But I like working with Greenberg!" the Brain whined.

"Oh grow up," a frustrated Sensational Sherri rolled her eyes. "We're as set as we can be," she leaned close to the receiver as well, "Of course, it doesn't help that managers aren't allowed at ringside for the Rumble..."

"Then you'll all just have to find another way," Don Vincenelli sounded frustrated himself, "Because I may impress on all of you, my patience is getting very short. Time and again, you've insisted you'd have the world championship ready for me, and time and again you failed, like you did in Russia..."

"That wasn't our fault; how could we have known the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection would actually steal an assault vehicle to break Hogan out of jail!" Jimmy protested, "It looked open and shut to us...!"

Well, the point is, there's still no world title belonging to someone wrestling for me, and without the world title, I can't leverage Jack Tunney into giving me the WWF, as you well know. And you should know, the pressure's starting to heat up on my end; one of my satellite joints in Buffalo was raided New Year's Day. The feds couldn't find enough evidence to make anything stick against anyone important in my organization, but I just know they'll turn up the heat even more soon. The faster I get control of the WWF, the better, or I may never get the total control of wrestling nationally that I want. So I'm hoping you all have something ready to go for the Rumble I can use..."

"We're working on it, Don Vincenelli, we're working on it, but like Sherri said, it won't be easy with all managers barred from ringside in the main event," the Mouth of the South reiterated, "And since it's going to be every man for himself, the Million Dollar Corporation isn't going to be able to effectively work together on this."

"Hell, they're practically at each other's throats already; Earthquake and Jake almost came to blows on the way down over who was better; Quake was about to stomp on Damien's bag before we stopped him," Sherri grumbled, "So the Rumble may be asking too much to..."

"I don't want people working for me to say they quit, Martel," the don warned her, "We're going to make it work this time no matter what. To that end, I'm assigning one of my best men to the Rumble; I'll go over the plans with him once I get down to Miami Beach for..."

"Here? You're coming down here?" Heenan turned pale. He glanced up at his fellow managers and silently mouthed, _"We're dead." _

"Yes, Heenan; since all the other attempts to get me the world title have fallen flat, I figured some more direct supervision of sorts would be helpful. And no, I'm not going to kill you," Don Vincenelli told him wearily, "You're all still too valuable of commodities to my organization to flush. Anyway, as I said, one of my best men will be in the building for the Royal Rumble; call him Mr. Hughes if you will. He's just finishing up a little task I assigned him down here in Miami; his schedule should be free after that point. He's going to have full control to do whatever he feels is necessary to make sure a member of the Million Dollar Corporation wins the world title-and will do what he can with the Intercontinental and tag team belts as well. Just don't irk him off, please; he has a rather short fuse, if you know what I mean."

"No problem there, buddy; no problem at all, we'll stay completely out of his way and let him do his thing," Heenan said quickly.

"Good. I'll call again once everything is in place. And Heenan, you'd be doing a huge favor to get that Intercontinental belt, so tell Rick Rude to be on top of his game. We don't want another embarassment like at Summer Slam, do we?" Don Vincenelli sounded almost forbidding as he hung up. Heenan gulped again. "I've got to find a body double, just in case...!" he whimpered.

"Easy, Bobby, easy; like he said, he's not going to kill you; since you're not going to be in Rude's corner for the ladder match, he can't blame a loss on you," Jimmy assured him. The Mouth's brow furled. "'So, he's sending in 'Mr. Hughes?' And what's he going to do, unleash Ferris Bueller on Hogan...?"

"Well, whatever he's got up his sleeve, I'm sure he'll make it count if he's a professional," Blassie seemed nonchalant. "Well, now that we know what the plan is, the best we can all do is keep training our guys, so if you'll excuse me, I've got a whole new tag team to break in to help win the title for Ric."

"No offense, Freddie, but that ain't gonna happen," Jimmy countered, following the Classy One to the door, "Because Ted and Earthquake are going to rock that ring, and one of them's coming out on top, not Flair...!"

"OOOOOOOOh no, gentlemen, my Undertaker's time for victory is now," Bearer chimed in gravely.

"Are you crazy, Paul; that walking zombie's got nothing!" Blassie shot back.

"Are you threatening me, Mr. Blassie? The Undertaker doesn't take well to people threatening me..."

"Oh laaaaaa-dee-da; I'm really scared, Paul, so bring it on!" Blassie told him off. The managers kept bickering all the way down the hall, leave Sherri in the rear to mumble under her breath, "This is why I've always hated the Royal Rumble...!"


	3. Chapter 3

"I'm sorry, gentlemen," Tunney shook his head behind his desk in the rear conference room at the Surfcomber, "but a contract is official and binding."

"Please, Mr. Tunney, just this once," Steamboat begged him, "We didn't know ahead of time the Rumble would be for the title..."

"I didn't think of making it like that either until just after the new year, Ricky. If I'd have come up with it sooner, of course the three of you would have been included. Listen," Tunney rose up and walked in front of the desk, "I know you're all upset, and I can understand; everyone wants a shot at the gold; it's what every wrestler dreams of. But there'll be other times for the three of you, plenty more down the road..."

"But what if there's not?" the Boss Man countered, "What if one or more of us get hurt in the six man match and have our careers end there...?"

"Then you'll have done an awful lot of good in the time you did have. I'm truly sorry gentlemen, but you signed this match with the Orient Express of your free will, and thus you're legally obliged to keep that contract," Tunney stressed, "The Orient Express has been training hard for this match too; I don't approve of their oft-used tactics any more than I approve of those seemingly used by everyone else in Harriashi Fuji's stable, but they deserve a fair shake same as the next person. How would you feel if they were to cancel the match at the last minute and leave you out in the cold? It would be terrible, wouldn't it?"

"I suppose so, Mr. Tunney," Davey sighed in acceptance, "It's just...our families are bound to be watching the Rumble; the least we could do is give them a terrific experience..."

"And I think you will; I think the three of you are going to start out the pay-per-view with one terrific match," Tunney encouraged them, "And tell you what, once we see who wins the Rumble, to try and make this up to you three, I'll see about giving each of you a title shot against whoever ends up the champion in the period before Wrestlemania. Doesn't that sound like a reasonable consolation for you?"

"I suppose, Mr. Tunney," Steamboat shrugged.

There came a knock at the door. "Mr. Tunney, I have the belts," Bret's voice called out.

"Bring them in, Bret," Tunney told them. He extended his hands once the Hitman entered and accepted the world and Intercontinental belts. "Thank you; good luck to you and Hulk in trying to retain them tomorrow," he told him.

"Mr. Tunney, they're starting to arrive for the drawing," the company president's secretary stuck her head in the door.

"Thank you, Rosalyn. Good day, gentlemen," Tunney wished all the wrestlers farewell. "I had a feeling you'd all be here," Bret told his three associates as they exited into the main conference room, where several familiar faces were beginning to congregate around the large wooden table set up in front of a podium, "He wouldn't let you in, would he?"

"No," Steamboat shook his head sadly, "And who knows when we'll get another shot at the world title...?"

"You'll get that shot, Ricky, trust me," the Hitman assured him, "I thought I heard him say-hi, Kerry, good luck," he briefly paused to wave at the Texas Tornado, who'd waved at him, before continuing, "He said you'd all get title shots after the Rumble, right? So what's there to be upset about?"

"It's more than that, Bret, it's...it would mean so much to Harry if I could win it all for him," Davey admitted, "He only has the vaguest of memories of when Tom and I were tag champs, and while it felt good to wear the tag belt, I want more. I want him to be proud of me, at least more so than he is now, and if I could just have the shot at the gold..."

"Let me tell you something, pal," Bret put an arm around his brother-in-law as the four of them exited the hotel, "Tomorrow afternoon, Harry'll be sitting wide-eyed on the floor with his cousins in the Hart Mansion rec room watching the Rumble, and more than the Rumble itself, I can guarantee you that the one thing he's looking forward to seeing is his father in action, with or without a title at stake. He couldn't care if you win or lose; just seeing you do your stuff is almost certainly enough for him. You got that?"

Davey mulled it over for a moment, then nodded softly. "You'll get your chance, pal," the Hitman assured him, "You all will," he told Steamboat and the Boss Man as well, "It'll be a tremendous travesty if none of you end up as at least a one time world champ when all's said and done. So, if it'll make you feel any better, I'd heard they have an all night fiesta at the Howard Johnson a few blocks down from here; how about we all go there and celebrate till midnight?"

"So, the reformist Hitman's going to be a party animal again?" the Boss Man chuckled.

"Just the party atmosphere, Ray; I swore to Julie I was swearing off-what I was hooked on before," Bret grew very serious, "She made it clear she'd leave for good if she got concrete proof of any lapses, and the last thing I want is to put the kids through a divorce; no kid should have to go through that. Certainly it's hard on Alison's daughter with what she and Ben are going through right now; Jade and Dallas shouldn't have to go through the same."

"Well good for you for the effort, Hitman," the Boss Man commended him, "Now which way is the Howard Johnson?" he frowned, "All these hotels on the beach look the same to me..."

"Three blocks down to the right; you can't miss it," Bret informed him, "I'll be along in a while; I asked Liz to draw up some plans for the ladder match, so once she and Randy are done with the draw, I'll pick them up. And again, guys, don't feel bad about this," he gave them a parting piece of advice, "You're avoiding a hornet's nest by missing the cut; right now, everyone in there's probably at each other's throats already."

* * *

><p>Tunney shook his head as he left his temporary office to see all thirty wrestlers chosen for the Rumble standing in a clump, yelling furiously at each other over who was the best out of all of them. A few shoving matches were also taking place, he could see. Sometimes, he admitted to himself, the competitive aspect of the sport seemed to just be <em>too<em> competitive...

He bustled to the podium and tapped the microphone on it. "May I please have your attention?" he asked loudly. All the wrestlers stopped bickering and turned towards him. "Thank you," the company president said, relieved everything had calmed down so quickly, "I welcome all of you, and congratulate you all on being selected to participate in this year's Royal Rumble. At this time, I must request all managers leave the hotel-and that includes bodyguards too," he frowned strongly at Virgil, who frowned back as he got up and followed the rest of the managers out. "Please be seated," Tunney gestured the wrestlers to the conference table, "Now, before we get started, these liability forms will be coming around for you to sign," he gestured to several aides, who began passing out the forms, "By signing these, you agree to strict confidentiality concerning the numbers you draw for the Royal Rumble; if you say anything to anyone in the next twenty-four hours, I will have no choice but to disqualify you from the Rumble. Pens will be distributed as needed."

He leaned against the rostrum and watched the wrestlers all sign and turn the forms in to the aides. "All right," he stated when they were all done, waving forward an armed, uniformed security guard clutching a metal briefcase, "I'm sure many of you know the drill; inside this briefcase held by Mr. Anthony Stecher, chief of security for the Third National Bank of Florida, are thirty balls numbered from one to thirty; they have been sitting in a bank vault at the Miami branch of Third National for the last month, and have been brought here under heavy guard; there is no evidence of any tampering with the balls, so I know?" he asked the guard, who nodded firmly. "All right," he continued, "In a moment, you will all be called into the rear room one at a time," he pointed to it, "The door will be closed and locked behind you, and, in the presence of only myself and Mr. Stecher here, you will draw at random one of the balls from this briefcase. You will memorize your entrance number, then discard your ball into another secure briefcase and leave, and again, you are henceforth under oath, under penalty of disqualification, not to say a word about your number to anyone until the Royal Rumble is underway. Before the pay-per-view begins tomorrow, you will all be sequestered in a backstage area apart from all the other wrestlers participating in the event; when the time for the Rumble comes, you will line up in order behind the curtain; myself and relevant personnel will make sure the order drawn today is preserved. Are there any questions?"

No one said a word. "All right then, we will draw the numbers in alphabetical order by ring name," Tunney consulted a piece of paper, "And thus, Andre, you'll go first. Come on in with us."

The Giant rose up, looking fairly confident, and lumbered into the rear office with Tunney and Stecher. The door swung shut behind them and was locked loudly from the inside. About three minutes later, Andre reemerged, his expression firmly neutral. "All right," Tunney consulted his list again, "Ax, you're up next..."

* * *

><p>"Miami Beach, what a place to be," Don Vincenelli glanced down at the Miami skyline from his top floor penthouse suite at the Ritz-Carlton, "If only we could hold all wrestling contests in paradise."<p>

He quickly drew the blinds shut; better to take absolutely no chance of being seen, he reasoned. He walked across the spacious room, which had lush carpeting and wallpaper. "All right, gentlemen," he addressed the dozen or so goons slouched all over the room, "Remember, security is tantamount during our stay. No unauthorized trips outside the hotel, and no unnecessary interaction with hotel staff. The feds are starting to get a little wise to us; don't give them any extra ammo."

"Hey Uncle Kenny, Mr. Hughes's work's on the news," his nephew Stefano pointed at the widescreen TV in front of them, where the news anchor was reading off a breaking story: "...recently discovered the bodies of fourteen mobsters in this canning warehouse on the south side of Miami; all of them had been shot no fewer than twenty times. Police had identified the victims as being members of the Grammachi crime family, which was heavily into the betting and gambling business, but whose fortunes had been on the wane in recent years as the Florida wrestling territory dried up in the face of the World Wrestling Federation's national expansion. Among the dead in fact was mob leader Eduardo Grammachi, whose death authorities believe will strike a fatal blow to his crime syndicate. Witnesses who heard the shooting have given police the description of a man seen leaving the warehouse. Although not completely confirmed yet, the shooter would appear to be the notorious hitman Curtis C. Hughes, a.k.a. 'The Cat,' wanted for murder in four states. If you have any information, please contact..."

"Good work, Mr. Hughes," Don Vincenelli applauded softly, "That's exactly what Grammachi deserved for trying to skim off me. He always was a thorn in my side," he asided to a goon, "Resisted my takeover efforts to the bitter end. Now, he's one less threat to worry..."

There came a knocking at the door. "Mr. Hughes is here, Don Vincenelli," another goon told him, staring at the monitor to the security camera the mobsters had rigged outside the penthouse.

"You verified him? No one followed him?" his boss demanded.

"Nope, it's him and just him, boss."

"Send him in, then," the don instructed. A large, hulking African-American man wearing a Miami police officer's uniform and shades entered the penthouse. "Mr. Hughes, pleasure to see you," the don shook his hand, "I commend you on your stellar job eliminating the Grammachi family for me. Now, I've got a bigger assignment for you: getting the gold, all the gold if possible, for the Million Dollar Corporation. You can do it, right?"

"Damn right," Mr. Hughes muttered, scowling, "Anything goes? Even live ammo if necessary?"

"Whatever it takes, even live ammo. Here, have a seat," Don Vincenelli waved the hitman to a nearby table, "Tell me some of the ideas you had in mind..."


	4. Chapter 4

AUTHOR'S NOTE: All lyrics are trademarked by their respective copyright holders.

* * *

><p>"Liz," Bret hailed the First Lady of Wrestling as she exited the hotel, "You have the notes?"<p>

"Yes, of course," she dug a set of papers out of her purse and handed it to him, "I researched a few ladder matches that have been done in other territories; my best guess for your strategy's right on there."

"Thanks," he commended her, "My dad actually had the first genesis of the ladder match, or so he tells me. I can recall it when I was younger; he had Bruce go against Rotten Ron Starr for Stampede's world championship in a match a lot like they've set up my match with Rude."

"Among his other apparent accomplishments; if they ever do put together a wrestling hall of fame, he should be one of the first inductees," Elizabeth commented. Her expression grew more serious. "How's the new version doing that your brothers are running? It seemed to still be on shaky ground back in November..."

"Well, unfortunately, Liz, it looks like it's getting a little shakier; from what I hear when I call back home, the bank won't extend Bruce any more credit," Bret shook his head, "In a way, he only has himself to blame-he never really ran it as well as Dad ran Classic Stamepde-but you still hate to see anything go under. Unless he gets a major loan somewhere in the next month or so, New Stampede's probably going under."

"That's the only downside to a strong national tour; all the little guys are getting squeezed out by the WWF," Elizabeth lamented, "And I'll admit part of me does feel slightly guilty to be hurting the little guys. Randy's father's promotion's apparently in trouble too; he was their biggest star before he jumped to the WWF; I see in the newspapers they've been losing a lot of money since he left..."

"Hello again, babe," came Flair's unwelcome voice from behind. The self-proclaimed Real World's Champion cockily skipped towards her. "So, you really think your man has any chance against me tomorrow in the Rumble?" he all but taunted her, "I'm a real champion, more than he'll ever be, and I'm still open right now..."

"Ric, just leave me alone; it's over between us for good," she glared at him, "And I don't believe any word you say about being open when you were sleeping with a least three other women when we were dating..."

"Well that's not my problem you couldn't mind your own business," the Nature Boy shrugged indifferently, "The thing is, when I want something, I keep something, be it the world title, women..."

"Ric, she said to leave her alone," Bret warned him, "Now if you force me to..."

"You'll do nothing, Hitman, or I'll get you suspended for your match with Rude," Blassie snarled as he bustled out of the hotel after his man, "You wouldn't want to lose the title that way, would you?"

"It's preferrable than to let Flair here get away with harrassment," the Hitman glared back at the Classy One.

"Well, you pencil-neck geek, it's only harrassment if it's based on false pretext, and for someone who doesn't belong in the sport of wrestling," Blassie glared contemptuously at Elizabeth, "I'd say it's just right for..."

"You know what, Blassie, I am sick and tired of you and your filthy, sexist attitude towards me!" she shouted angrily in his face, "I've proven time and again I'm just as good a manager as you are, and if you can't stand a woman in the managing business, maybe it's you who should quit!"

"Not until I get MY title back, and if Ric here has to kill ever single person in that ring tomorrow to get it, including dear, sweet Randy, then so be it!" Blassie shot back, "And then, when I do, I'm going to wave it right in your face to make you feel just as low as you can get! And when I'm done humiliating you, you'll feel completely obliged to crawl back to the kitchen where you belong! What do you say to that, sweetheart!?"

Without warning, Elizabeth slapped him hard across the face. With an angry roar, Blassie seized her wrist hard as Flair stepped in Bret's path to hold him off. "OK princess, you want to go with me!?" he roared, squeezing the wrist hard enough to make it turn red, "I don't care if I get fined, suspended, or sued by those damn women's rights groups, right now, you're going to get what you've had coming for...!"

There came another loud roar, and a large blonde flash knocked Blassie hard to the ground. "Back off, Blassie!" Hulk shouted at him, "That's no way to treat a lady at all!"

"You call her a lady? I know things that's ll make..." Flair started to retort before Bret shoved him down as well. "Get out of here, you cowards, or else!" he warned the Nature Boy and his manager.

"Yeah, beat it!" Hulk swung a kick at them. Blassie's expression remained defiant as he clambered to his feet. "You're going down, Hogan!" he warned his former charge, "Tomorrow, the belt will be Ric's and mine, and you and the skirt will be humiliated for good! I swear it, Hogan; Hulkamania's dead for good this time!"

"And when Hulkamania and Macho Madness are destroyed for good, the First Lady's got one last shot at Space Mountain, WOOOOOOO!" Flair added with a loud shout. Hulk growled and lunged towards him, prompting he and Blassie to take off. The champion turned his attention back to Elizabeth. "You OK?" he asked her, concerned.

"Yes, I'm fine, Hulk; he just held a little hard, that's all," she told him, rubbing her wrist.

"Let me see," he took hold of it himself and examined it, "Yeah, nothing that looks..."

"Uh hmm," came Savage's sharp voice from behind. He was frowning deeply at his fellow Mega Power holding his wife's wrist. "Uh, it's not that, Randy; Blassie was assaulting her," Hulk pointed out quickly.

"He did, Randy, I witnessed it," Bret added.

"Ah," Savage mumbled, but he didn't seem completely convinced. "Well, looks like the draw's just about over," he remarked, bustling over and slipping an arm around Elizabeth, "Where do we go from here?"

"I talked to Brutus before the draw, Randy; he said they were having karaoke night at a place called The Macaw Room," Hulk told him, "It's apparently no further than five blocks from here."

"OK, karaoke's fine, as long as Beefcake's there for you," Savage mumbled. "Blassie really did assault you?" he turned to his bride for absolute confirmation.

"Yes, he did, Randy; grabbed my wrist after spewing more degrading words about me," she confirmed it.

"OK then, I'm snapping his neck clean in two the next time I see him," the Macho Man vowed.

"Please don't, Randy; I wasn't even really hurt. Revenge solves nothing, remember?"

"Yeah, but everyone pushes the line, and he's gone way over it too many..." Savage trailed off as more shouting came from the doorway. "...think you've all got a serious reckoning coming, because it's my time now, and if I have to go through all of you to get it, I will!" Piper was arguing with Andre and Tito, "I've never held a belt in my career, it's my time now!"

"What about me, Roddy; I've waited over fifteen years for one; my career won't go on forever!" Andre countered, "It's my time now!"

"And I've been going just as long too...!" Tito protested.

"You've had the belt already; don't you forget those two Intercontinental runs plus the tag run with Martel before he showed himself as a louse," Piper pointed out, "So, that invalidates your whole argument."

"So that means I can't have the world title? Not on my watch, Piper! I could take you any time!" the Mexican-American vowed.

"OK, let's settle this here and now then," Piper whipped off his shirt, "You and me, right here, to prove...!"

"Stop, don't!" Elizabeth quickly jumped between them, "Not like this! We're a team, remember? I don't care if the Royal Rumble is every man for himself and for the world title; we're a team; we need to stick together!"

"She's right, boys," Bret shook his head at them, "Not even the world title's worth destroying friendships. So save it for the Rumble, OK?"

"All right, all right," Piper grumbled, muttering under his breath, "But I'm still the most deserving one...!"

"Well, Brutus said the Macaw Room should be open right about now," Hulk checked his watch, eager to diffuse the situation, "How about we head on down now and have a few rounds and a singalong to help us forget about life for a while."

"Fine by me," the First Lady bustled after him (again sending Savage's eyebrows up at her eagerness to follow Hulk), "You coming, Bret?"

"Nope; promised the others I'd take them to the Howard Johnson," the Hitman shook his head, "Suffice to say, they're a little down over making the final cut."

"I see. Well, good luck cheering them up, brother," Hulk waved him goodbye for the moment and continued walking in the direction of the nightclub...not noticing the black car that pulled out of its parking space across the street from the hotel and started following him...

* * *

><p>"Nice place, yeah," Savage declared as he walked into the Macaw Room, which was decorated to look like a jungle, and the stage of which was flanked by several neon palms, on which the current karaoke singing was crooning away on some Latin tune.<p>

"And I see the man who gave the invite; Brutus," Hulk waved to the Barber at the bar. "Hey, champ!" Beefcake strode over and gave Hulk's hand a vigorous pumping, "You made it."

"Yep; if one of my best friends on the tour gives an invite, I'm taking it up," Hulk grinned.

"And it looks like we're not the only Royal Rumble participants who came," Tito glanced around the nightclub, where more than a few participants in the following day's pay-per-view were congregated-including, in a corner booth, a glum-looking Mr. Perfect, chugging away at a margarita. "Well, look who's here," Piper smirked as he approached the former Intercontinental champion, "Kind of upset you're not getting another shot at _your_ belt, huh Perfect?"

"Shut up, Roddy!" Perfect bellowed at him, furious, "I'm still the uncrowned Intercontinental champion, and I don't care if Bobby wants to push that lizard Rude over me; I WILL get my title back-and after I win the world title tomorrow, I can ensure I'm the number one contender!"

"No dice, pal; I'M going to walk away with the gold, so don't you forget about it when you're thrown over the top rope by me," Piper leaned close to him with a grin. With a loud growl, Perfect leaped to his feet and reared a fist back. "OK, Roddy, let's not incite the poor little sore loser," Hulk gently pulled the Scotsman away.

"You two can't run from me!" Perfect shouted after them, "I am perfect, and I will win the world title, and then get my Intercontinental belt back!"

"Oh whatever!" Piper shouted back. "So, Beefcake, what's the hot drink here tonight?" he asked the Barber, plopping down next to him at the bar.

"Miller Lite all around," Brutus answered his question by calling for more drinks to the bartender. "What do you feel your chances are, pal?" he asked Hulk on his other side.

"I know I'll conquer, brother; no one seems to think I have a fair chance, but I just know the prayers, the training, and the vitamins will get me to the top and let the longest reign in modern history keep going," Hulk declared, taking a swig of beer, "Of course, brother, it would be nice if you got the gold too."

"Yeah, I'd like that," Beefcake mused with a small smile, "Who knows where I'd be now if it hadn't been for that confounded parasailer not watching where he was going," he grumbled, "I could have ended the Honky Tonk Man's reign as Intercontinental champ earlier..."

"Careful, pal, the walls have ears," Piper pointed to a nearby booth, where the Honky Tonk Man was in fact seated with several of his "Honkettes."

"I don't care," Beefcake shook his head, "He's so much of a louse, he deserves to hear what others think. We should all feel good that we all got away from what he is."

"Oh yeah, brother, and speaking of people who got away," Hulk saw Razor Ramon walking in their direction, flanked by a pair of attractive women. "Say, Ramon, care to have a few rounds with us?" he asked the Cuban immigrant.

"Certainly, _chico_. Ladies," Ramon sat down at the counter, "Allow me to introduce the lovely Lola and Juanita," he introduced his dates.

"Well hello, my lovelies," Piper smiled warmly at them, "Know where I can get more like them, Ramon?"

""There's always chicas looking for love in here, Piper," the Cuban immigrant told him, "Look around and you'll probably find one."

"AAAAAAAllrighty then," Piper rubbed his hands eagerly. "And let me just say, Ramon, sorry we all had a bad judgment of you when you first came here to the WWF; it looks like you're a hell of a lot better guy than you seemed early on."

"Yeah, you gave off a bad image at first, but it's clear you're better than that now, that you're not really the Bad Guy at all," Hulk added.

"Well, _chico_, when you grow up on the streets of Havana, you gotta be rough and tough with lots of machismo to get ahead," Ramon admitted, "I always was the tough guy; it was the only way to stay above water. But all I ever really wanted was the American dream; the fame, the money, the women," he put his arms around his dates, "That's why I came here. I've always been aiming to get some gold to match this gold," he fingered the mountain of gold chains around his neck.

"Well, if you ask me, you've got a good chance for some gold, amigo," Tito approached, smiling at his fellow Hispanic wrestler, "Heck, if you ever want to be in a tag team, I'd be glad to join up with you; as you've probably heard, my last try at a tag team ended badly."

"No, Mr. Santana, I'm not a tag team man, but it would be nice working with you," Ramon smiled back, "Right now, my aim is to take down that overblown conquistador Valentine; he stabbed me in the back, and nobody, and I mean nobody, stabs Razor Ramon in the back."

"Well, join the club, Razor; Valentine stabbed me in the back a while back too," Beefcake told his former Survivor Series rival, "I thought he was like my brother for the longest time, but then he walked out on me at Wrestlemania."

"Well he's one tough customer, amigo; the wars we used to have for the Intercontinental belt were terrible," Tito told him, "I could give you some pointers on how to handle the Hammer if you'd like."

"Sure, but hold that thought, _chico_, it's time to play my tune for the lovers of Latino music," Ramon had noticed the previous karaoke act was finishing to polite applause. "Excuse me, chicas," he told his dates, ambling up to the stage, where he whispered a selection into the MC's ear then hefted the microphone and started singing a peppy, soulful Spanish-language ballad. But no sooner had he gotten to the first verse of the refrain...

"You call that music!? One side, boy, one side!" the Honky Tonk Man abruptly pushed his way on stage and pushed Ramon away from the microphone. "I don't know how you people can stand all that Latin crap," he remarked to the booing crowd, "Let me show you some REAL music, namely my number one hit single, 'Hunka Hunka Honky Love,' which is better than ANYTHING Elvis Presley ever wrote. And a one, and a two..."

He gave his guitar a loud strumming and broke into his song in spite of the loud booing that greeted him: "Come on baby, hold me tight; tell old Honky we need you tonight. we need a hunka hunka Honky love..."

An orange hit him square in the face. "Hey, have some respect for a master of the craft!" he complained out loud.

"Respect? Here's our respect," Piper declared loudly, grabbing another handful of oranges from a nearby bowl, "Let's all show him what we think of his so-called music, folks!"

He flung his citrus projectiles at the Honky Tonk Man. Most of the rest of the nightclub patrons did the same. "Hey, that's no way to treat a singing sensation like me!" the Honky Tonk Man roared in protest, trying to shield himself from the onslaught, "I demand a vote of confidence! I'm the Honky Tonk Man; you can't do this to me!"

"And you are leaving," Savage jumped up on stage from the booth he and Elizabeth had been sharing and gently pushed the Elvis impersonator off the stage. "Hate that guy, always have," he mumbled out loud under his breath, loud enough to be picked up by the microphone, garnering applause.

"While you're up there, Randy, why don't we all do a number together?" Hulk joined him on the stage, then waved for the rest of the Connection to join them-indeed, Beefcake did as well, "A little Journey I think will do the trick."

"Oh yeah, I think so too; maybe a good song'll impress the chicks," Piper eyed the attractive women watching him on stage (neither he nor the other wrestlers, however, noticed the large African-American in the suspenders and shades glaring at them from the booth opposite the counter). He took a deep breath as the music started and held up his hand to denote he was taking the first verse: "Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world; she took the midnight train going anywhere..."

"Just a city boy; born and raised in south Detroit," Hulk took the next line, "He took the midnight train going anywhere..."

"Hey that's no song either!" the miffed Honky Tonk Man shouted in protest from the sidelines, "I demand to finish what I started! I demand...!"

"You demand nothing, _chico_," Ramon dumped his beer over the Elvis impersonator's head to shut him up, right as Beefcake picked up the next line: "A singer in a smoky room; the smell of wine and cheap perfume. For a smile they can share the night; it goes on and on and on and on..."

"Strangers, waiting," the entire Connection picked up the refrain, "up and down the boulevard; their shadows searching in the night. Streetlight people; living just to find emotion hiding somewhere in the night..."

The crowd roared its approval. None of the wrestlers, however, noticed the large shade-wearing man slide casually over to the counter and quickly drop something into Hulk's beer before bustling out of the nightclub well before the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection finished the song to a standing ovation. "Oh, you like me, you really like me!" Piper did his best Sally Field to a particularly loud burst of applause.

"Hold on, hold on, I ain't done yet," Savage held up his hands as most of his teammates shuffled off the stage, "I got one more to do. It's a very special song, one that the greatest manager in all of wrestling and the greatest woman in the entire world consider our own; we'd like to share it with you now. Come on and step right up, Elizabeth; we'll do it for everyone now."

"I'm not so sure, Randy..." she seemed uncertain to be singing it before a large crowd.

"Come on, just the same as when we dance to it, and I'm right here," he assured her, whispering the selection into the MC's ear. Elizabeth shrugged and cleared her throat as the music came up. "When you came into my life then I realized you were the only one," she went for it anyway.

"When you came into my life, you made me realize I was the lucky one," Savage did the next line, sliding an arm around her.

And I never felt like this before," they looked into each other's eyes as they reached the refrain, "Together; our love will last forever. Together; just you and me forever..."

Hulk smiled warmly at the duet at the foot of the stage. "They really are an inspiration, aren't they?" he asided to Tito next to him, "I hope they really do stay together forever."

"So do I, amigo," Tito nodded firmly, "If anyone deserves to..."

Suddenly, there came a strangled cry behind them. Hulk whirled to see Beefcake clutching at his throat, turning blue in the face. "Brutus, what is it!?" the world champion rushed to him, concerned. Beefcake could only gasp out loud before sinking into a heap on the floor. "Oh my God!" Hulk gasped in horror. "Quick, someone call an ambulance!" he shouted desperately to the panicked-looking patrons watching in horror.

* * *

><p>"How is he, Doctor!?" he asked the doctor exiting Beefcake's room at the hospital about an hour later.<p>

"Poisoned," the doctor informed him, "He ingested a modest form of cyanide. Fortunately it dilluted enough in his drink to dull the effects, and luckily there were enough people around to call for the medics quickly enough."

"Will he live?"

"Yes he will, but unfortunately, he won't be wrestling tomorrow," the doctor shook his head.

"I see," Hulk shook his own head sadly, "Can I see him?"

"Don't take too long," the doctor advised him. Hulk nodded and slipped into the room. "Brutus, it's me," he told his friend, sitting in an elevated position in his bed, looking depressed. "I'm glad you'll be OK..."

"I had been looking forward to this for a long time," Beefcake mumbled, and Hulk could see the tears flowing down his face, "Ever since they said the world title would be on the line...why is it every time I get a chance to win the gold, something happens to wreck me...!?"

"I'm sorry, brother, I really am," Hulk stooped down at his bedside, "If it makes you feel any better, I promise to go out there and win it for you tomorrow."

"Really?"

"You bet; you are one of my best friends on the tour; how could I do any less?" Hulk shook the Barber's hand, "See if you can get them to put it on your TV here; I'll do something in tribute for you when I run in to the Rumble."

"Thanks, pal," Beefcake managed a small smile, "What do you suppose happened to land me in here?" his brow furled, "The beer was just fine when I first started sipping it..."

"Who knows; bad brew, I guess," Hulk shrugged, "Just too bad it had to happen to you now. Hopefully that's the only snag the rest of us have with the Rumble, and I certainly hope the Million Dollar Corporation doesn't try anything to get an unfair advantage."

"Come on, Hulk, it was a blind draw in a locked room," Beefcake joked, "How can any of them get an edge?"

* * *

><p>"You got it, Virgil?" DiBiase turned away from the television in his own penthouse suite as his bodyguard came in, a videocassette in one hand and a large book in the other. The Million Dollar Man rose up and took the book off Virgil, opening a pair of flaps on the spine to reveal a hidden video camera inside. "They didn't see you or suspect anything?" he asked the bodyguard.<p>

Virgil shook his head firmly and extended the cassette. DiBiase laughed loudly. "Tunney may think he's in control, but the Million Dollar Man knows all the tricks of the trade, especially the old hidden camera trick," he bragged, inserting the tape into the VCR player, "OK then, let's see who drew number thirty."

He hit Play, then fast forwarded over the footage of the other wrestlers drawing their balls, captured in closeup by the hidden camera from atop the bookshelf in Tunney's makeshift office. "Aha," he exclaimed after about four minutes, pausing the tape over the footage of the Warlord drawing Ball Number Thirty. "Just our luck, someone who doesn't have a realistic shot at the gold, and who'd have an easy price to trade down," he declared, laughing again, "So, what do you think, Virgil; would ten million be Mr. Warlord's price to let me have the final slot...?"


	5. Chapter 5

ROYAL RUMBLE DAY

T MINUS 30 MINUTES TO AIR

"...go out and wait for the guy, Martel, we're all counting on you for this very important job; it's because I'm a woman!" Sherri grumbled disgustedly to herself, rocking on her heels outside Miami Arena's service entrance, "You could have used all the fancy jargon you wanted, Freddie; you wouldn't have fooled me any less; it's because I'm a woman, and you think I'm menial! I've got to get my own guy, my own stable; then you'd show me some respect, and I'd be in the arena getting ready to direct someone for a title shot instead of pacing around out here looking like a fool!"

She glared sideways at all the happy customers filing into the arena, ready for the Royal Rumble. "And how the hell am I supposed to assist the guy when I don't have a damn clue what he looks like, Freddie!?" she continued griping to herself, "I can't just approach any guy who comes over here to...!"

"Sherri Martel?" hissed a soft, gruff voice to her right. "Mr. Hughes, I presume?" she asked hopefully to the man in the shades wearing an arena security guard's uniform and clutching a large briefcase.

"Not out loud," he grunted, "I'm supposed to be invisible here."

"Right, right," she agreed, glancing around, "I'm supposed to help you in any way you'd need. I suppose you know how to get into the building first and foremost?"

Mr. Hughes drew a key from his belt and unlocked the service door. "Right, good," she nodded, following him inside and up the stairs to the upper level of the arena, "Where'd you get the uniform?"

"Got it off the guard at the rear gate; gave him a break," he mumbled, miming breaking a man's neck. Sherri shivered visibly. "I see," she managed to say, "Well, if you have to kill anyone in the Rumble, try and kill Savage; I've wanted his and that slut Liz's blood spilled for a long time. I've been looking to get at least one other guy after I had to dump him, but so far I've struck out. That way maybe I wouldn't have to..."

"Shhhhh," Mr. Hughes hissed, picking up a large metal pipe from inside the stairwell door. He glanced through the door's window to make sure no one was around. then pushed it opened, walked to the left a few feet to the control room, and rapped hard on the door. "What's going...?" one of the technicians opened the door. Mr. Hughes immediately belted him hard over the head with the pipe, then rushed into the room and belted the other technician over the head as well before he could activate his walkie-talkie and spread the alarm. Sherri gave him a sharp kick to the face when he continued slowly reaching for the radio, then dragged his partner back into the control room and locked the door. "You're a bit excessive, pal, but I think that's good in this case," she told him, rifling through the cassettes featuring all the wrestlers' entrance themes, "I guess I'll handle all the technical stuff here during the event to try and make them think nothing's going on up here. You just go and do your thing when you need to do it; I'll help any way you ask. Just so a member of the Million Dollar Corporation has all the titles when the Rumble's over."

* * *

><p>"Five minutes to air, Uncle Kenny," Stefano called from the penthouse's sofa, watching Okerlund hosting the preshow on TV, "Hope Mr. Hughes is ready to go by now."<p>

"I wouldn't have hired him for the job if he wouldn't be ready ahead of time, Stefano," his uncle slid into the large plush armchair directly in front of the TV.

"Too bad his poison couldn't take out Hogan, boss," one of the goons in the corner spoke up.

"Well, Carlo, it was worth a try to decapitate the snake," the don told him, "At least we did take Beefcake out; since he'd never work for me, he's a worthwhile casualty for the Royal Rumble."

"Too bad they had to replace him with another guy who isn't in our pockets like Tatanka," Stefano shook his head, "If we get any leverage tonight, Uncle Kenny, we ought to give Tunney the ultimatum that only we name replacements from here on."

"We'll see what happens. Come here, Killer," Don Vincenelli hefted his pet porcupine into his lap and stroked him, "I think one way or another, this is going to be a good night for us."

* * *

><p>"Testing, one, two, three, four, five," Monsoon did a sound check on his headset at the broadcast position.<p>

"TEEESSSSSSTIIIINNNGGGG!" Jesse 'the Body' Ventura all but shouted into his own headset next to him.

"Thank you, Jesse, but I keep telling you not to be that loud when checking," the director admonished him, "Sounds good, though. Two minutes to air."

"Got it," Monsoon switched on the monitors in front of him, now displaying color bars. "Shame about what happened to Beefcake last night," he confided in his broadcast partner, "He's worked hard to get a title shot..."

"I say good riddance," Ventura snorted without a shred of sympathy for the Barber, "The Rumble's better off without that clown."

"And you don't feel the least bit saddened that he won't get the chance to win the world title?" Monsoon frowned deeply at him, "Between this and that terrible accident in the Caribbean that put him out of action for so long when he could have been Intercontinental champ..."

"That's what he gets for letting down Greg Valentine in the first place," the Body was unrepentant, "He cost them that WrestleMania match a few years back; Valentine was right to dump him as partner, and then Beefcake went off the deep end with this whole hair-cutting garbage. This is divine karma, and it makes me feel better too."

"Oh I see, Jesse; because you had that career-ending injury, it's fine to cheer on other people's careers possibly ending, is that your logic?"

"Damn right it's my logic, Monsoon, and it's sound logic," Ventura snapped at him, "If I have to be miserable about what could have been, everyone else should be too. I'll tell you, Gorilla," he grumbled, bitterness and jealousy all over his face, "_I_ should be the one in that ring as champion tonight; _I_ should be the one fending off all those would-be challengers..."

"Well unfortunately, Jesse, you know life isn't fair in a lot of ways," Monsoon pointed out to him, "I suffered lots of bad breaks myself..."

"Not as bad as me," the Body shot back, hatred now joining the jealous expression, "And I'm sick of Hogan this and Hogan that from you, McMahon, and everyone else. It's time he takes a fall same as everyone else, and thank God he probably will here..."

"Quiet on the set; we're thirty seconds to air," the director warned them over the headsets. Both commentators sat up and waited until the director gave the final count: "Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one; hit the opening graphics and cue Vince."

"IT'S TIIIIIIIIIIME TO RUUUUUMMMMMBBBLE!" came the roar of Vince McMahon from the production truck's audio booth as the introduction roared to life on the screen, "Thirty of the greatest superstars in all of wrestling come together to battle for the World Wrestling Federation world championship: Andre the Giant! Ax of Demolition! Butch of the Bushwhackers! The Barbarian! The Million Dollar Man Ted DiBiase! 'Hacksaw' Jim Duggan! Earthquake! 'Nature Boy' Ric Flair! Hercules! The Honky Tonk Man! Marty Jannetty! Nasty Boy Knobbs! Luke of the Bushwhackers! 'The Model' Rick Martel! Shawn Michaels! Mr. Perfect! 'Cowboy' Bob Orton! 'Rowdy' Roddy Piper! Jake 'the Snake' Roberts! Nasty Boy Saggs! 'Macho Man' Randy Savage! Tito Santana! Smash of Demolition! Tatanka! The Texas Tornado! The UUUUUUUUlitmate Warrior! The UUUUUUUUndertaker! The Warlord! YYYYYooooookozuna! And reigning champion, the Immortal Huuuuuuuuuulk Hooooooooooogan! It's tiiiiiime to Rumble! IT'S TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIME FOR THE ROOOOOOOOOOOYYALLLLLL RRRRRUUUUUMMMBLLLLLLLLE!"

"Cut to the crowd," the director instructed the cameramen, "Announcers on in seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, hit it, Gorilla."

"A sold-out Miami Arena packed to the rafters all around us; the heat is on even in the dead of January, as the World Wrestling Federation proudly presents the Royal Rumble!" Monsoon declared proudly, smiling as his camera went on, "Hello again everyone, Gorilla Monsoon here with Jesse 'the Body' Ventura; the big news of course is that the world title is on the line in the Rumble, and suffice to say, Jesse, that every single entrant has a good shot to win it."

"Most do," Ventura opined, "And those that do are well deserving; Ric Flair, of course, who finally should get vindication as the real world champion. The Million Dollar Man too; Hogan kept the belt from him when he made a fair offer for it, and he's been waiting for his day in the sun. And of course, the Undertaker, still unbeaten here in the WWF and easily one of the top contenders."

"Certainly. Let's of course not forget Andre the Giant..."

"Too old and washed up, Gorilla."

"And the Macho Man..."

"When he was still with Sherri, yes, but with Liz, no way; she holds him back."

"Well, only time will tell once they all hit the ring, one at a time, later in the broadcast. We'd like to take this opportunity to wish a speedy recovery to Brutus 'the Barber' Beefcake, who was originally slated to be in this Rumble, but was hospitalized last night with food poisoning..."

"Seems to be a lot of that going around lately, huh Gorilla? Hogan back in the summer, and now his life partner Beefcake..."

"Will you stop!? The Barber appears to be fine, but had no choice but to drop out of the Rumble; the next highest challenger, the Native American warrior Tatanka, was selected to take his place; we wish him luck. Besides the world title in the Royal Rumble, the Intercontinental and tag titles will also be on the line tonight, the former in a ladder match; several other exciting matches are also on the card, beginning with an exclusive six man match to lead things off, so let's go down to ring announcer Howard Finkel for the introductions."

Behind the curtain, Steamboat was shaking his head. "We're all rated higher than Tatanka," he groused, "Not to put him down, since he is very talented, but why didn't Tunney just switch him with one of us?"

"Now Ricky, remember what I said," Bret reminded him in the corner, waiting to go on in the next match, "Be thankful for what you have..."

"Right, right, I know," the Dragon still looked miserable, "Well, ready, guys?" he asked his teammates next to him.

"Ready as we'll ever be," the Boss Man hefted his nightstick and handcuffs; Davey also nodded and gave Mathilda a soft tap on the rear end to get her to her feet.

"Well, let's get it on, then," Steamboat took a deep breath and slipped through the curtain at the moment the Alan Parsons Project roared to life over the loudspeaker and Finkel announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, this is opening bout of the Royal Rumble; it is a six man match scheduled for one fall. Introducing first the members of Team Number One: first, from Honolulu, Hawaii, weighing 237 pounds, Ricky 'the Dragon' Steamboat!"

"Surprisingly glum-looking expression on the Dragon's face as he high-fives the fans along the aisle," Monsoon noticed.

"Like Bobby the Brain brought up during the Prime Time preview special last week, I think he's jealous his fellow members of the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection are getting the glory later on tonight and he isn't," Ventura smirked.

"Well, perhaps, but regardless, I'm sure he and the rest of his team will still give us a good show. Steamboat climbing into the ring now, another teammate should be entering soon..."

And indeed a siren rose up now, accompanying a blue blur rushing up the aisle to the announcement, "Next, from Cobb County, Georgia, weighing 305 pounds, the Big Boss Man!" "Boss Man looking somewhat determined tonight, holding the handcuffs high," Monsoon remarked, "Surely he has to feel a little down over missing the main event as well, as likely teammate number three is too, but it goes without saying they'll all have strong title shots in the future. We're just waiting for the Bulldog now..."

The strains of 'Rule Britannia' rose up now, complimenting the figure in the Union Jack cape now coming up the aisle with Mathilda, managing a brief smile at the final announcement, "And, accompanied by Mathilda, from Leeds, England, weighing 270 pounds, the British Bulldog!"

"Strong ovation for the Bulldog and his pet; he's done quite a lot to foster good American-British relations during his time here in the WWF," Monsoon continued, "Mathilda looking quite well-fed..."

"Of course; the mutt probably did the building manager a favor and ate all the rats backstage-not that she isn't a rat herself..."

"Will you lay off Mathilda!? She has yet to do a single thing wrong during a match..."

"Oh really, Gorilla!? How about that sneak attack on poor Jimmy Hart at Summer Slam, or did you forget about that already!?"

"That was after the match, and Jimmy Hart completely provoked the situation and got what he deserved. Mathilda now going out onto her perch at ringside; the terrific trio give each other a high five in the ring. Although this will be their first match as a unit, I'd say they're easily a match for their opposition."

"Well only time will tell, Gorilla. Fuji trains the Orient Express well; they're a good threat to anyone. In fact, because they have cohesion, I'd say they have the edge in this one-and here they come now."

A gong rang out, followed by Oriental-style music, and then Finkel's last announcement: "Their opponents, being led to the ring by Mr. Fuji, at a total combined weight of 676 pounds, from Osaka, Japan, here are Kato, Tanaka, and Sato; the Orient Express!"

"Confident look on Fuji's face as he approaches ringside with his men; the Orient Express have been tearing up the competition since they've arrived in the WWF," Monsoon noted, "Usually the Orient Express has invoked the two-out-of-three-member Freebird Rule so far, but tonight, all three members will be participating in the match."

"And there ain't a slouch among them, Gorilla; each one brings something special to the table, so the Mega Powers Team, I guess we can call them, has their hands cut out for them here."

"Last minute consultation by Fuji with his men; the Orient Express bows to him now, and it looks like, yes, Kato will be starting off against the Dragon on the other side."

"Well, give them credit there; fighting fire with fire is a good way to start the match."

"The two of them locking up as the bell rings; Steamboat with an arm drag that takes Kato down, then another one. Twisting the...no, Kato with a karate kick to the chest to break the hold."

"Ha, divine justice for Steamboat using the same move illegally on his opponents."

"He does not! Kato whips the Dragon into the ropes, swings the...no, Steamboat slides under the legs, up and a karate kick of his own sends Kato sprawling! Steamboat whips him into the ropes now, and downs him with a dropkick. Kato back to his corner, tags in Tanaka, who rushes Steamboat, and gets an armdrag down of his own. Steamboat tags in the Boss Man, who promptly stomps on Tanaka's back, now picks him up and slams him-and a cover, one, two...Sato with a diving save. Boss Man shoves Tanaka to the corner, and a big splash on him. Flinging him to the other...no, Tanaka reverses...Boss Man reverses again...hold on, Fuji's hanging his cane there in the corner, looks like he's waving Tanaka to send...and Tanaka reverses again and the Boss Man into the corner, hitting the cane face-first!"

"Well you know, Gorilla, that wasn't deliberate; I think Fuji just wanted to put it down for a moment."

"Oh sure. And see for yourself; he's picking it right back up. Tanaka trying to get the Boss Man up for a suplex; Boss Man fighting it...and he flips Tanaka over instead! Boss Man off the ropes, and a diving splash for the cover: one, two...this time Kato in for the save. Boss Man whips Tanaka into the ropes, downs him with a big boot to the face, and a tag to the British Bulldog. Davey Boy going up to the top rope right away; he's going for aerial tactics to finish...no, Tanaka rolls away and makes a quick tag to Sato. Sato rushes the Bulldog, starts kicking him in the chest, now drops the elbow on the chest too. A close-up there of Mathilda, looking concerned for her master's well-being..."

"And how do you know that, Gorilla; for all we know, she could be on strike against him..."

"Will you stop!? Davey Boy flung into the corner by Sato, who goes for the splash-and misses! Davey Boy hefts him up in the air and a big suplex coming up-now! Another cover: one, two...Sato just barely kicks out. British Bulldog undeterred, flings him into the ropes, whoa, hurls him high over his head; that was a lot of verticality, Jesse."

"Yeah, I'm impressed, and I don't impress easily, Gorilla."

"Davey Boy off the ropes himself, and a flying splash: one, two...Tanaka breaks up the cover! The Orient Express has been prolonging the match since the start; it should have been over by now!"

"Well it ain't, and that's a tribute to the Orient Express's talent."

"You mean their illegal gang tactics. Sato now with a sucker punch to the Bulldog's chest, and he tags Tanaka in. Tanaka kicking the Bulldog in the back-look at this, Kato climbing into the ring, referee Dave Hebner cuts him off-allowing Sato to come in and help Tanaka double team Davey Boy; give me a break!"

"Good teamwork by the Orient Express; they know how to turn the screws."

"Oh yeah, I can see that, Jesse. Sato back out before Hebner turns around; Tanaka delivers a strong karate kick to the British Bulldog's chest, sending him flying backwards towards his own corner. Tanaka puts him in a headlock, pounding away on his skull...and there's a tag to the Boss Man by Davey Boy; Tanaka didn't see it!"

"Turn around you fool!" Ventura tried to cue Tanaka in, but it was to no avail; Tanaka was nailed from behind by the now-legal Boss Man before the Bulldog could rebound off the far ropes, where the unsuspecting Tanaka had flung him. The two teammates flung Tanaka backwards into the ropes himself before downing him with a double kick to the face. "Now you talk about illegal double-teaming, Gorilla; that was one right there!" the Body groused.

"It was under five seconds, Jesse; I counted the time myself. Davey Boy now out of the ring himself as the Boss Man hefts Tanaka up and gives him a big body slam. Another cover: one, two...no, foot was on the ropes. Boss Man lifts him up again and hurls Tanaka clean out of the ring; whoa!" Monsoon exclaimed at the power display. "Tanaka now staggering around the ring; Boss Man leaping out and chasing after him, it's...hold on, what's this?" he frowned, "On the other side, Sato sliding out and grabbing hold of the Boss Man's nightstick; the former prison guard's chasing Tanaka his way...look out, Sato nails him in the chest with the nightstick; give me a break! And now a blow to the face with it! And he and Tanaka with a double kick to the face!"

"Like I said, good teamwork by the Orient Express; you can't deny that, Gorilla."

"Sato and Tanaka roll him back into the ring, and Tanaka with a quick cover: one, two...just beat the count there. Fuji yelling his encouragement to his man in the ring as Tanaka comes down hard on the Boss Man's chest. Now whips him into the ropes-no, Boss Man ducks under the clothesline, ducks under the other one-and they both take each other down!" he roared along with the crowd, "Each man's corner shouting at the other to tag; Tanaka and the Boss Man crawling towards their partners' outstretched hands; who'll tag first...?"

"It's going to be Tanaka; there's the tag to Kato..."

"And there's the tag to Steamboat on the other side, and we're right back to where we started. Steamboat blocks Kato's karate kick, dishes out one of his own, Kato returns...WHOA, they're really going at it tooth and nail in there now!"

"Martial arts experts all; this is how it's done, America."

"And that's not how it's done; Kato with a rake of the eyes to stop Steamboat. Now he picks the Dragon up and gives him an atomic drop that sends Steamboat reeling towards the corner. Kato charges in...no, Steamboat gets the legs up and kicks him in the face. Now grabbing Kato's arm and going up to the top rope; I think we're about to see the Dragon take flight...yes, flattens him with a hard chop! A cover: one, two...no. Steamboat grabs the legs, and I think a slingshot is coming...yes, Kato hard into the turnbuckle!"

"Now if he'd stop doing that lousy Dragon pose every time he does something good and put him away," Ventura pointed disgustedly at Steamboat doing the pose in the ring, "maybe he'd actually be a better wrestler than he is."

"Which is to say, one of the very best. Steamboat whips Kato into the far corner, now rushes...and misses. Kato with the tag to Sato, who comes in and kicks Steamboat in the back before he can recover, now takes him down hard. Tanaka coming in now, cut off by the ref-while Sato takes off his belt and starts choking Steamboat out with it while Tanaka continues distracting Hebner...!"

"Hey, he can't see everything, Gorilla; it's only cheating if you get caught."

"Yeah, yeah, I know the way your mind works, Jesse. Sato casually tosses the belt out of the ring before the referee turns around; a series of chops to the Dragon's face, and now a karate kick sends him down to the mat. Sato with the cover: one, two...Steamboat kicks out at the last possible second. Sato still looking rather confident, here he comes off the ropes for a big splash...and misses! Steamboat scrambling towards his corner for the tag, Sato grabbing the legs and trying to pull him back...no dice, the Boss Man's tagged in again! The former prison guard with a kick to Sato's chest, now whips him into the ropes...and it's the Boss Man Slam! The cover: one, two...Kato with the diving save; not again!"

"Yep, Gorilla, again."

"Boss Man very frustrated right now...and look at this, he rams Sato and Kato's heads together!"

"Now that was uncalled for; he had no right doing that to Kato when he wasn't the legal man!"

"Well can you blame him, Jesse; the Orient Express has conspired to practically break up every cover so far; the Mega Powers Team, to use your name for them, had this match won long ago as far as I could see it. Boss Man shoves Kato outside the ring, flings Sato into the corner, and the big splash on him. Now goes to...no, Tanaka grabs the legs outside the ring and trips him! Kato coming back in again; Dave Hebner again not seeing anything at the moment as he tries to get Kato back out. And now look what they're doing: Tanaka dragging the Boss Man's head under the ropes by the hair right by Fuji...and Fuji whacks him in the throat with the cane; come on!"

"That's why he's a good manager; he's ready to stand by his men in the clutch, not like, say, Mathilda."

"With actions like these, Jesse, it's fair to say Fuji's more a dog than Mathilda-and now another cane shot to the Boss Man's throat! And Sato now draping the former prison guard's head over the top rope, and a tag to Kato; I think their decapitation move is forthcoming."

"You know it, Gorilla, and I love this move. Kato off the far ropes, here he comes..."

"OOOOOOUCH, that's going to hurt!" Monsoon grimaced as Kato leapfrogged over Sato and landed hard on the Boss Man's back. "Boss Man grimacing in clear agony now-and Kato with a quick cover: one, two...just kicked out. Kato conversing with Sato, who takes his place behind him as the Boss Man's flung into the far ropes; I think another patented Orient Express move is coming. Boss Man flung high by Kato towards Sato...but look at this, Boss Man grabs Sato and pulls him into a small package! One, two...no, Kato kicks him in the face to break it."

"Wouldn't have counted anyway since Sato isn't the legal man right now."

"Kato, who is in fact the legal man, with an another karate kick to the Boss Man's chest. Now into the ropes again, Kato leaps over him, and a flying tackle and a cover: one, two...no."

"Boss Man needs to tag; he's been in there too long now."

"That would indeed help his cause. Boss Man whipped hard into the corner; Kato charges...no, Boss Man with a roundhouse right stops him in his tracks! He leaps sideways, and the tag is made to a fresh Davey Boy! British Bulldog hitting Kato with a barrage of lefts and rights, now picks him up and gives him a big slam! Davey Boy into the far ropes-and Fuji hits him in the back with the cane!"

"Good alertness by Fuji; that stops his momentum."

"For the moment at least. Kato over, gives the Bulldog a hard snap suplex. Now the tag to Tanaka, who drops the elbow hard on him. Tanaka off the ropes, looking for the big splash...but no, Davey Boy gets the knees up and gives him a hard shot to the chest!" he exclaimed, "Tanaka writhing in agony in the middle of the ring as Davey Boy springs to his feet, now kicks Tanaka from behind into the turnbuckle! British Bulldog back in control as he flings Tanaka into the far turnbuckle as well, and a big splash on him! Tanaka stumbling over to try and tag one of his partners, but Davey Boy cuts him off, lifts him high in the air, and here comes a big suplex...yes!"

"Fuji looks worried now; this wasn't what he planned."

"He's going to be more worried in a minute; Davey Boy hefting Tanaka over his shoulder; we're about to see that running powerslam coming...right now! The cover-Steamboat and the Boss Man intercept Kato and Sato from interfering this time, and that's it!"

The bell rang loudly. "Here are your winners, the team of Ricky 'the Dragon' Steamboat, the Big Boss Man, and the British Bulldog!" Finkel announced to the cheering crowd. "We did it," Steamboat exhaled to his teammates as they raised their hands in unison, "And actually, that wasn't half bad."

"But we're not done yet; you ain't going anywhere, boy!" furious, the Boss Man jumped out of the ring, grabbed Fuji by the arm before he could leave with his men, and dragged him back into the ring, tossing his cane aside. "Wait, Boss Man, let's talk this over...!" the Devious One gulped nervously.

"The time for talk's over, boy, and I didn't forget all the cheap stuff you pulled on me during the match!" the Boss Man snapped one end of his handcuffs around Fuji's wrist, and the other to the second rope, "It's time you face a little Cobb County justice for your cheating habits!"

"Wait, let's cut a deal...!" Fuji stopped as he received several sharp blows with the nightstick to a loud ovation from the crowd. "And now, meet our little friend," the former prison guard gestured Davey to release Mathilda, "She's not a police dog, but she knows the bad guys when she sees them."

"No, not the dog, not...!" Fuji's pleas dissolved into a high-pitched shriek as he frantically started rushing back and forth along the apron to avoid the snapping jaws of Mathilda, making the crowd roar in delight at his panic. "Now this is a disgrace!" Ventura was incensed, "Fuji did nothing to deserve this!"

"And you don't count all those cheap shots on the Boss Man and his teammates throughout the match?" Monsoon raised an eyebrow at him, "He's getting exactly what he deserves. Once he's unlocked, we have the Intercontinental championship on the line next, and what a match that's probably going to be..."


	6. Chapter 6

"OK, Phil, lower 'er down," came the call through the control room's radio. Mr. Hughes obligingly pressed the toggle control forward on the master control panel to drop the large metal ring on which the Intercontinental belt would be secured down into the ring. "Here we go, finally," Sherri announced from the corner amid a large stack of entrance music cassettes. She hefted a pair of them and jammed them into the tape deck. "Like I was saying, I've been trying to get my own guy for a while now," she continued to Mr. Hughes, watching intently as the Intercontinental title was attached to the ring, "Rick was one idea I had-I prefer the handsome men above all else-but Bobby wouldn't let me near him. And Rick Martel turned me down flat as well; I guess the fallout he had with his previous manager soured him on managers for life. Somewhere out there, there's got to be somebody who'd be willing to sign with me, somebody who'd..."

Mr. Hughes grunted and held up a hand to silence her as he raised the pole up to a respectable level above the ring. "Seems reasonable enough," Sherri agreed, assessing the height, "Don't try anything the first time Rick goes up; we don't want to get them too suspicious. If Hart gets his hands on the ladder first, though, fire away," she glanced down at the ladder being set up in the walkway to the ring, "And here we go; let's hope for the best."

The bell signaled Finkel's reemergence in the ring. "Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a ladder match for the Intercontinental championship," he proclaimed to the crowd, "As you can see, the Intercontinental belt has been attached to this pole above the ring," he pointed up at it, "The man who can successfully climb that ladder," he pointed to it as well, "and retrieve the belt will be crowned Intercontinental champion. And now, introducing first, the challenger: being led to the ring by his manager, Bobby 'the Brain' Heenan, from Robbinsdale, Minnesota, weighing 251 pounds, 'Ravishing' Rick Rude!"

"A supremely confident expression on the face of Rick Rude as he heads down to ringside," Monsoon noted from the broadcast position, "He's waited a long time for his shot at the gold, and it stands to reason he's good and ready, despite the rumors we've been hearing all week that Mr. Perfect has been upset that he was passed over for the shot at this event."

"Nah, the Hitman started that rumor to make himself look stronger," Ventura snorted, "The important thing is that the title's probably coming back to the Heenan Family again after tonight."

"First, of course, it looks like we'll have to go through this routine again," Monsoon sighed as Rude hefted the microphone. "Cut the music," the Ravishing One called up to the booth, where Sherri obligingly paused the tape. "What I would like to have right now," he continued, scanning the audience, "is for all you fat, ugly, South Bay beach bums to try and control yourselves while I take my robe off and show the ladies what the truly sexy body of the next Intercontinental champion looks like. Hit the music."

"You and McMahon may spit on this routine of Rude's, but I like it," Ventura declared, "It shows just how hard he works out...and look at the tight design he came up with this time," he pointed at the airbrushed image of the Intercontinental belt on the front of Rude's tights, "Now there's a confident man for you."

"Overconfident is how I see it...and look at the back, he put the Hitman on the back," Monsoon pointed at Bret's face right over Rude's now swiveling rear end, "That's demeaning if you ask me. The Brain now leaving the ring area with the robe-the match stipulation was that he would not be allowed at ringside for this, only the two competitors-and the real Bret Hart should be coming out any minute now..."

"Hart Beat" indeed started up at this point, with the announcement, "His opponent, and champion: from Calgary, Alberta, Canada, weighing 234 pounds, Bret 'Hitman' Hart!" "A standing ovation for the Hitman as he enters the arena," Monsoon noted warmly, "The fans here love him, as do so many all around the world, and all he has to do is get that Intercontinental belt down to remain champion. Hitman weaving around the ladder, trying to avoid all the bad luck from walking under it, I suppose, as he passes...did you see that, the Brain sucker-punched in the chest on the way out!" he roared in rage, "Bobby 'the Brain' Heenan is contractually barred from any purpose in this match, and he pulls that cheap shot-and now he shoves the ladder down on top of the Hitman! Bret Hart not even in the ring yet, and he's already taking a shellacking! Referee Dick Kroll up against the ropes, shouting furiously for Heenan to vacate the area. The Brain yelling at Rude to give him the works as he leaves the arena floor, and here comes Rude now. Rick Rude dragging the champ out from under the ladder as our technicians set it back up, now it looks like, yes, he's pulling off that leather Hitman jacket and slipping it on himself; give me a break!"

"Well you know, Gorilla, he does sort of look good in it," Ventura was grinning.

"He has no business putting it on; it doesn't belong to him. Rude hauling Bret Hart towards the ring, smashes his face into the apron as the bell rings, and rolls the champ into the ring. Rude still wearing the Hitman jacket as he climbs up to the top rope to start the match; he wants to start off with a bang very clearly. Rude with some more unnecessary hip work on the top rope, and now he goes flying-and misses! Hart rolling out of the ring, looking like he needs a breather, and of course to give away those Hitman shades."

Keeping one eye on Rude in the ring as the Ravishing One stumbled back to his feet, Bret scanned the crowd for the lucky shade recipient for the night. Nodding, he approaching a young boy of about three in his father's arms not far away and slipped the shades over his head. "Wish me luck, little guy," he said quickly, turning around in time to see Rude diving off the apron towards him, about to deliver an axhandle to him. He quickly delivered a sharp punch to Rude's chest, making him double over in agony, and then pulled his jacket back off his foe. "You want one, Rick, buy one from the concession stand!" he rebuked Rude, tossing the jacket to the nearest ring attendant, then rushing forward and ramming Rude into the ringpost. He rolled into the ring and placed his arms on his hips, waiting for Rude to get back in-no point to exhaust himself when he'd eventually have climbing to do to win, he reasoned, glancing up at the Intercontinental belt dangling overhead. "Rick Rude climbing back in now, and the two of them lock up in a test of strength," Monsoon picked the commentary back up, "They're straining hard, hard to say who has the advantage here with...and out of nowhere, Rude with a cheap shot kick to the chest!" he groaned, "The champ flung into the ropes and downed with another kick to the face, and more hip swiveling by Rude, looking even more confident now."

"He should be, Gorilla; he caught the Hitman napping early and has made him pay for it since then."

"Rude drops the elbow hard on the Hitman, and now another one. Rude hauls him up, flung him towards-no, Bret reverses it-Rude reverses again-and Bret slams him hard into the corner. Lunges forward-but nobody home. Rude nails him in the back with the elbow, now whips him hard into the far corner as well. So far it's been more or less Rick Rude in this one, but he has to get that Intercontinental belt down from the pole to be the champ. Rude pulls the Hitman out of the corner, and here comes an atomic drop. Bret grimacing in pain; he's yet to mount much offense after getting his jacket back."

"Yeah, kind of got overconfident, didn't he?"

"Now don't say that; Bret Hart has shown he never looks past any opponent. Rick Rude now giving the champ a big suplex, and a beauty. More hip swiveling, and Rude's climbing out of the ring; I think he's going for the ladder."

"Might as well; he's got the advantage; might as well exploit it."

"Rude in fact taking hold of the ladder and carrying it back to the ring; he's going to take his shot at the gold. Rude heading towards the center-but first he rams the ladder into Hart's chest; come on! He's flat on the floor and not posing any threat!"

"This is war, Gorilla; every opponent should be considered a threat; didn't you just say Bret Hart took everyone too seriously?"

"Oh, whatever. Rude setting the ladder up; he's starting to climb it..."

"We may be seeing the changing of the title right off the bat; who'd've thought that?"

Bret slowly getting to his feet; he sees Rude atop the ladder, he's stumbling towards it, but Rude's just about at the top..."

"Too late; he's within reach of the belt..."

"Not yet; Bret shaking the ladder hard. Rude sways, sways harder...and falls to the mat. Hitman starts climbing up the ladder now; the crowd here cheering him on. He's just about there...no, Rude kicks the ladder, and down goes the champ to the mat as well!"

"Like I always say, turnabout is fair play."

"Yeah, I know. Rude folding the ladder up, and he rams Bret in the chest with it again-and again. The Ravishing One positions the ladder against the turnbuckle, now he's climbing up to the top, and pushes off the ringpost, right down on top of the champ. Now Rude setting the ladder back up in the middle of the ring, he's climbing up it again towards the belt. Hitman crawling quickly towards the ladder, now he's shaking it hard again..."

"He's going to have to shake harder; Rude's hardly losing his footing at all..."

"Now he is shaking harder, and Rude topples off the ladder again! Rude back to his feet, pulls the ladder down horizontally, and tries to ram the Hitman in the...no, Bret pulling on the other end; we have a major tug of war going on now...and the Hitman yanks the ladder out of Rude's hands and rams HIM in the chest! Bret sets the ladder back up and starts climbing up; the belt's within his reach..."

Up the control room, Mr, Hughes grunted and shook his head. He yanked the control toggle forward once Bret had reached the top and started reaching for the belt. Immediately, the pole it was attached to started retracting upwards. "Hang on, what's this?" Monsoon demanded, "The pole's not supposed to do that! Get it back down here!"

"Too late," Ventura snickered as Rude shoved the ladder over, toppling a stunned Bret to the mat. The Ravishing One folded the ladder up, reared back, and smacked Bret hard in the face with it once he'd gotten to his feet. He then rammed him in the chest once more, sending him down again, then draped the ladder over the champion's chest and started jumping on top of it. "Rick Rude pulling out all the stops in this one to take the Hitman out of it," Monsoon shook his head.

"Well can you blame him, Gorilla; if the belt's on the line, you do whatever it takes," the Body reasoned.

"But what the heck's with the pole operator; I read the match protocol beforehand; the pole is not supposed to move once the belt's positioned on it. The operator's forgotten..."

"Hold your water, Gorilla; here it comes now," Ventura pointed to the pole descending back down as Rude set the ladder back up and started climbing it.

"But wait a minute, it's going lower than it was before; look at that!" Monsoon pointed as the pole descended so low that the Intercontinental belt practically touched the top of the ladder, "It's not supposed to be that low either! Rick Rude smiling as he nears the top of the ladder; he's getting essentially a free pass here, and the belt's his if...hold on, Hitman climbing up to the top rope across the ring, measures the distance and jumps...WOW, BRET HART WITH A FLYING TACKLE OF RUDE JUST AS HE WAS ABOUT TO GRAB THE BELT!" he roared, as did much of the crowd.

Up in the control room, there came a sudden knock at the door. Sherri quickly flattened herself against the wall by it. "Go away; we're busy!" she barked.

"It's me, toots," came Heenan's voice from outside, "Just want a birds-eye view."

"You weren't followed up, were you?"

"Nope, not at all," the Brain insisted. Sherri nonetheless opened the door only a crack and glanced suspiciously up and down the empty hallway before letting Heenan in. "From now on, DON'T call me toots," she warned him.

"So you're Mr. Hughes; pleasure to meet you," Heenan extended an arm to Don Vincenelli's top man. Mr. Hughes merely held up an arm to silence him as he once again yanked the switch to raise the pole well up into the air as Bret was straining for the belt again atop the ladder. Heenan laughed hard. "And the fool doesn't have a clue what's going on," he chuckled, opening the window. "All right, Rick, knock him down hard!" he called down to his man in the ring.

"Will you stop that!" Sherri yanked him back in the window and slammed it shut, "You'll give us away!"

"Hey, I just want to give the next Intercontinental champ some support if that's OK," Heenan retorted. "Yes, yes!" he exclaimed, seeing Rude shove the ladder over, dumping Bret hard into the ringpost, "Hurt him some more; soften him up so he can't cause any more trouble, Rick!"

Down below, Rude again folded the ladder up, draped his foe's arms over the corner ropes, then rushed at him, plowing the ladder into his chest like a battering ram. "Rick Rude again with advantage here, and I have no idea what's going on in the control room," Monsoon grumbled from the broadcast position, "They'd better stick that pole back at the proper height and leave it there."

"It's coming down, Gorilla, don't you get uptight over that," Ventura pointed up at the descending pole.

"But it's going too low again! Rick Rude sees that and sets the ladder up under it; the belt's practically touching the top of the ladder! Rude smiling as he climbs up again, this is...Hitman rushing for the other side of the ladder, leaping up it, and he meets Rude at the top, and now they're trading punches hard! A barrage of lefts and rights; now Rude reaching for the belt; Hart grabbing the wrist to try and keep him away from it; the ladder's swaying under the stress of the brawl...look out, it's tipping over, and both men go flying out of the ring! Things are wild and happening here tonight in the Intercontinental match, that's for sure!"

"Now let's see who can get up from this one, Gorilla; looks like both of them took a nasty spill there."

"Both men stumbling to their feet; looks like Bret's a little faster on the draw, and he gives Rude a kick to the chest; now he slams him into the apron face-first and rolls into the ring. Hitman grabs the ladder, glances warily up at the control room, and set the ladder up underneath the belt again. Hitman rushing up the ladder as fast as he can, just in case the pole goes up again before...no, Rude into the ring and lifting up the opposite end of the ladder, and Bret Hart topples backwards to the mat. Rude braces himself against the ropes; I think he's going to try and tip the ladder over on the champ again-and yes he is...but the Hitman out of the way in time! Hitman with a hard right cross that connects with Rude's face; Rude ducks another, grabs the arm, spins him around..."

"There it is; he gave him the Rude Awakening!" Ventura roared in approval as Rude abruptly delivered his finisher to the Hitman, "And he Awakened him right onto the ladder; the Hitman's got to be out cold from that!"

"He does appear to be out of it, yes. Rude oozing supreme confidence now, sets the ladder up again; the belt's still on top of it, way too low..."

"Doesn't matter now; Bret Hart is out cold, and all Rude has to do is walk to the top, and he's the new champion."

"Rude taking his time climbing up, but there's still no sign of life from the champ. He's halfway up now, the belt's easily within his grasp in a few...wait a minute, what's this, who's that coming down the aisle?" he rose to his feet, squinting at the blonde figure streaking towards the ring.

"It looks like Mr. Perfect, now what's he...he's going to...WHAT IS THIS!?" Ventura roared as Perfect abruptly shoved the ladder over just as Rude was about to grab the belt, sending him to a VERY painful landing on the top rope, "WHAT THE HELL IS MR. PERFECT DOING!?"

"He's shouting something at Rude, sounds like, 'It's MY belt, and I'M getting it!' Mr. Perfect shoving Rick Rude out of the ring-no, Rude's foot's twisted up in the ropes; he's stuck!"

"NO, NO, NO!" Heenan screamed at the top of his lungs in the control room, horrified at the sudden turn of events, 'Get him out of there, somebody; get him out of there quick!"

"So, no trouble in the Heenan Family, Bobby?" Sherri glared at him suspiciously.

"OK, OK, I'm calm; it's not the end of the world; look," Heenan looked far from calm as he pointed to Perfect setting up the ladder under the belt and climbing up himself, "We can still return the gold to the Heenan Family..."

"Are you crazy; he's not legal; he can't win it that way," she upbraided him.

"At least we can hold up Hart through the courts for a long time; get it down, Perfect, get it down!" Heenan encouraged his other man on, "You've got it, you've got it...!"

"Maybe not; here comes Hart," Sherri pointed at the Hitman stumbling to his feet under the ladder. Bret glanced up, saw Perfect about to take the gold, and quickly shoved the ladder over, causing Perfect to also land painfully on the top rope before falling completely out of the ring. "Disqualify him! Stop him!" Heenan shrieked again as the champion started climbing the ladder for the belt again. "Get it up! Get it up!" the Brain grabbed Mr. Hughes's hand and the switch in one fell swoop and yanked them forward, jerking the pole upwards. This time, however, Bret took a flying leap just before it would have gone out of reach and grabbed hold of the belt's strap, even as the ladder collapsed underneath him, broken from all the punishment it had taken. The Hitman hooked his feet around the pole, pried the Intercontinental belt loose and quickly dropped to the ring before he could get too dangerously high. The bell rang loudly. "NO, NO, NO, NO!" Heenan wailed, pounding his head off the equipment in frustrated sadness, "I had it, it was right in my grasp...!"

There came a loud pounding on the door. "What the hell's going on in here!?" demanded the gruff voice of what had to be a security chief.

"Oh God, oh God...hide!" Heenan waved at his fellow manager and Mr. Hughes to find hiding places (they rushed for a small closet in the corner) before opening the door a crack. "Hi guys, is there a problem?" he asked innocently.

"OK Heenan, out of there," a large burly security guard dragged him out roughly. Perhaps assuming everything was all right otherwise in the control room, he and his colleagues did not go in and check it out, closing the door behind them. Nonetheless, Sherri and Mr. Hughes waited a good minute before exiting the closet. "That was close," she muttered, frustrated, "I knew he shouldn't have come in here."

Mr. Hughes merely grunted and stared down at the ring, where a livid Rude, having extricated himself from the ropes at last, charged towards Perfect, shouting visible obscenities as he went. He chased Perfect down the aisle and through the curtain to the jeers of the crowd, which then turned to cheers at Bret, flat on his back in the ring but holding the Intercontinental belt high. "Damn it, Perfect, we had it won!" Sherri muttered in disgust, "Well, might as well recalibrate and let it go," he conceded to Mr. Hughes, "After all, we get another shot in a while with the tag titles..."

* * *

><p>"Rick, Rick, no, stop!" Heenan frantically rushed towards the two men by the men's bathroom near the entrance tunnel. A furious Rude was now bashing Perfect with a steel chair, screaming more angry obscenities as he did. "Rick, Rick, please!" their manager pushed between them-and took a chair blow to the head for his trouble. He grabbed hold of the chair on its next descent and tried to hold it up. "Perfect, what were you thinking there!?" he demanded to the groaning former champion at his feet.<p>

"It's MY title, Bobby; I won't him swindle me out of it!" Perfect pointed contemptuously at Rude.

"You cost me the title, you filthy son of a...!" Rude started to roar at him, jiggling the chair to get it out of his manager's grasp.

"That's enough!" came Tunney's harsh voice as he came through the curtain, frowning at the three of them, "I do not stand for backstage fighting from anyone, gentlemen!"

"He pays for cheating me!" Rude bellowed, swinging a hard kick at Perfect's pelvis that connected.

"I agree it was wrong of Perfect to interfere in the match, Rick, but I do not approve of revenge tactics by you or anyone," Tunney glared at him, "Therefore, you're hereby fined fifty thousand dollars for instigating a brawl and breaking the no fighting out of the ring code I've had in place since I've..."

"Go to hell!" Rude shouted in the company president's face, slamming the chair to the floor and storming off. "...now added to an additional thirty thousand dollar fine for gross insubordination," Tunney shouted after him. "As for the both of you," he turned back to Heenan and Perfect, "Curt, you're fined a hundred thousand dollars for interfering in the match; Bobby, since I'm hearing you were fooling around in the control booth with the belt pole, you're also fined a hundred thousand dollars and are hereby on managing suspension for three weeks."

"It was an accident, honestly," Heenan begged desperately.

"That pole went up and down repeatedly, Bobby; that was no accident. You can still commentate on Wrestling Challenge, but you will not be allowed in any of your men's corners for the next three weeks; I do not approve of such overt cheating as I just saw," Tunney told him sternly, "Now both of you, back to your dressing rooms; Curt, I'll have the doctor take a look at you to verify you're in good enough shape for the Rumble."

"I'm going out there, doctor or no doctor; I'm leaving here tonight with at least one belt!" Perfect shouted at the company president, who was walking away now, past the next match participants who were approaching the curtain for their entrance cues.

"It's the doctor's decision, Curt. And you should have still waited your turn for another title chance, without resorting to sabotaging..." Tunney's voice faded away as he turned the corner, a livid Perfect still hot on his heels. Heenan groaned and rubbed the bump on his head from the chair blow. "You'll pay for getting me into this, Sherri," he muttered, "Just make sure Perfect wins the Rumble, and maybe I'll get over it..."

* * *

><p>"The following contest is a tag team match, scheduled for one fall," Finkel introduced the next contest to the fans over the jungle sounds on the loudspeakers, "First, being led towards the ring by Afa, from Samoa, at a total combined weight of 528 pounds, here are Samu and Fatu, the Headshrinkers!"<p>

"Headshrinkers looking quite determined as they make their way down to ringside; they've been tearing up the competition since arriving here in the WWF, and it stands to reason they'll put up a good fight tonight," Monsoon theorized.

"You bet they will, Gorilla; these guys are a great team, and it'll only be a matter of time before the tag belts are theirs," Ventura predicted.

"Only time will tell about that; their opponents are also a good team-and here they come now," Monsoon pointed at the men in the yellow and black striped ring attire now coming through the curtain to the announcement, "Their opponents, at a total combined weight of 473 pounds, the team of B. Brian Blair and 'Jumping' Jim Brunzell, the Killer Bees!"

"The Bees a good team!? Give me a break," Ventura snorted, "These guys are hacks, pure and simple; they have no talent..."

"Now Jesse, do you really think they'd have gotten as far as they have here in the WWF if they had no talent? They've earned their appearance here in this pay-per-view, and they can really be considered strong competitors as well. We're just about ready to get underway now, and it looks like it'll be Brian Blair starting off with Fatu. The two of them lock up in the middle of the ring-and whoa, Fatu with a headbutt of Blair right off the bat..."

"Good thinking there by Fatu; he and Samu know full well their strength lies in the fact their heads are lethal weapons."

"Highly controversial tactics, though. Fatu whips Blair into the ropes, rushes him, and another headbutt sends Blair down. Fatu stomps hard on the chest, and another, diving headbutt to Blair's head. The cover: one, two...no. Fatu over with the tag to Samu; both of them whip Blair into the ropes again, and both send him down with kicks to the face. A look now at Afa in their corner, munching away on that big pineapple he brought with him to ringside; he knows what it's like to hold the gold..."

"He's a multiple tag team champion with the Wild Samoans back in the day, and it's clear he's got a winner with the Headshrinkers now."

"I believe in fact Samu is his son and Fatu his nephew, so this team is very much a family affair. Afa now shouting instructions in Samoan to Samu, who picks Blair up and slams him down hard. Samu going off the ropes and going airborne...Blair rolls out of the way in time. Blair crawling quickly to his corner, and now a tag to Brunzell. Jim Brunzell rushing Samu; a right and a left to the head..."

"But no effect on Samu; you can't hurt the Headshrinkers by hitting them in the head; they've proven that much over the years."

"Maybe this will, though; Brunzell flings Samu into the ropes, leaps over him on the rebound, into the ropes himself, and a flying tackle takes Samu down! The cover: one...Fatu in to break it up...Brunzell grabs them both and rams their heads together..."

"Like I said, big mistake; look, they didn't feel it at all."

"And now both Headshrinkers kicking Brunzell in the chest, sending him down. And now both of them with diving headbutts on him; get Fatu out of there, ref!"

"Hey, he's just standing up for his cousin, like you said, Gorilla."

"I said nothing of the sort. Finally Fatu being herded out by referee Freddie Sparta as Samu whips Brunzell into the corner, rushes in on him, and a big splash. So far, Headshrinkers with all the offense in this one."

"Yeah, the Bees are probably regretting signing the contract on this one."

"Samu up on Brunzell's shoulders punching away at...no, Brunzell falls forward, and we have a cover! One, two...again Fatu in to break it up. Samu with a kick to Brunzell's chest again, and another headbutt. Legsweep takes Brunzell down, and a cover: one, two...just managed to kick out there. Afa shouting more instructions from the corner, and Samu...whoa, flings him completely out of the ring!"

"Brunzell needs to tag soon, or it's over."

"Afa shouting likely derogatory words at Brunzell outside the ring as he gets to his feet-and look at this, Fatu diving off the apron and giving him another headbutt! Brunzell down again, the count is now up to four..."

"He'd better hurry if he wants to salvage anything out of this."

"Brunzell around the ring, crawling back into the ring at seven. Samu right back on top of him, and Samu pounding away on Brunzell's back. A tag to Fatu, and Brunzell flung to the opposite ropes, and a double headbutt sends him down again. Fatu with the cover: one, two...no."

"How he's surviving this, I don't know; he's taking a severe whipping at the Headshrinkers' hands."

"Fatu with an elbow to Brunzell's face, now whips him into the corner, charges in...and misses!"

"Brunzell needs to tag right now; he can't take much more punishment."

"Brunzell stumbling along the ropes, and indeed a tag to Blair! B. Brian Blair in, a hard blow to Fatu's chest, now an Irish whip into the ropes; Blair off the far ropes, and a diving dropkick sends Fatu down! A cover: one, two...just missed the three. Blair picks Fatu up, and a big slam. Blair going up to the top rope; he's going to take flight...no, Samu pushes him off the top rope! And a cover by Fatu: one, two...no. Fatu with a tag, and he and Samu pick Blair up; looks like they're going to...oh no, they threw him right out of the ring!" he groaned, "And Samu with a cheap shot blow to Brunzell as well; both Killer Bees down on the floor now."

"If there was any doubt they were out of their league in this one, Gorilla, it's evident now; the Headshrinkers have completely dominated this one."

"Samu and Fatu celebrating, apparently convinced they've won this one already. The count is now at five, six-no, the Bees are starting to climb back into...and look out, it's Masked Confusion!" he exclaimed as the Bees swarmed back into the ring, now both wearing bee masks, "The Killer Bees have pulled out Masked Confusion!"

"Naturally; I was just waiting for the Bees to pull out this standard dirty tactic of theirs!" Ventura grumbled, "Every time they get in a fix, they put on these stupid masks so no one can tell them apart and...!"

"Blair and Brunzell clear the ring of the Headshrinkers; listen to this crowd go wild!" Monsoon held up his microphone to catch the applause, "The Killer Bees have...wait, what is this now!?" he exclaimed, seeing the Headshrinkers rushing back into this ring, now wearing carved tiki masks.

"Hey, they're just trying to beat the Bees at their own crooked game, Monsoon; if Blair and Brunzell want no one to know who's who, so will Samu and Fatu on their end," Ventura grinned, "Give Afa credit for this strategy; he's a better manager than you or McMahon give him credit for."

"Both teams in the ring and masked; all four men whaling away at each other; the referee has completely lost control of this one-or maybe not, there goes the bell now," Monsoon remarked, observing Sparta waving for the bell. Finkel's voice boomed out the official decision: "Ladies and gentlemen, the referee has disqualified both teams."

"What a terrible break for the Headshrinkers here; they had this one sewn up, and then had to get sucked into the Bees' rotten game," Ventura grumbled.

"They put on their masks of their own free will, Jesse; they have no one to blame but themselves. Both teams still going at it as they spill out of the ring and head back down the aisle, Afa whaling away at the Bees as well. This tag match an effective draw; there will be no pure draw in the next match on our card, when the Legion of Doom defend the tag titles against the Iron Sheik and Nikolai Volkoff, and it's coming your way next..."


	7. Chapter 7

"Hey Hulk," Bret cautiously stuck his head inside the cubicle the world champion was sitting inside as part of the pre-Rumble isolation standards in place to avoid anyone learning the entrance order or any other critical information, "Just wanted to say, well, be careful out there; I guess you saw everything that happened during my match?"

"Yeah, saw that," Hulk frowned at the TV set he and each participant were allotted, "Not sure what the story with that pole was..."

"I've been noticing, Hulk," the Hitman was frowning even more deeply, "Over the last few months, strange things have been happening whenever a belt's been on the line. You were poisoned before the Saturday Night match with Flair; we were shot at before Summer Slam; the KGB tried to have you arrested and shot last month, and then there was the whole voodoo incident at Halloween. If I didn't know any better, I'd think it was part of some concerted effort against us all."

"Well, I don't buy into conspiracy theories, brother; after all, we're loved the world over," Hulk scoffed, "Who could possibly hate us enough to do all that?"

"Oh, you never know, Hulk," Bret suspiciously eyed Blassie and the Mega Mercenaries as they walked by the isolation booths-indeed, he swore Blassie flashed a glare at him as he passed, "Some people might have a very good reason. So just keep your eyes open out there during the Rumble. I'm going to let everyone else know to be careful as well."

He slipped back out of view. "What's there to worry about, Hitman?" Hulk all but chuckled to himself, leaning back in his chair and returning his gaze to the TV, "This is live TV; who could do anything to us in view of the cameras...?"

* * *

><p>"All right, Freddie Blassie, you are about to lead the Iron Sheik and Nikolai Volkoff into the ring for the tag team championships," Gene Okerlund held a microphone into the Classy One's face in the interview area, "But you will be going against perhaps the greatest tag team of all time in the Legion of Doom. Any trepidation going in?"<p>

"Let me tell you something Okerlund, you pencil-neck geek, Fred Blassie is scared of no man," Blassie declared grandly, "And let me remind you that these men," he gestured to his charges, "are former tag team champions. They know how to get the gold, they know how to hold the gold, and regardless of whatever that overrated hack Paul Ellering can dig up for his men, the Legion of Doom is going to end up looking like a Load of Dopes when they get through with them."

"You tell him, Freddie," the Sheik grabbed the microphone, "Legion of Doom, we were cheated out of the belts before; now, we want them back, and we will get them back no matter what you throw at us!"

"Now hold on, Iron Sheik, it seems to me rather unfair to say that towards the Legion of Doom when it wasn't they but the U.S. Express that won the tag team titles off you back then," Okerlund pointed out, "And if I..."

"All American tag teams are alike, Gene Mean; dirty and cheating!" Volkoff snarled into the camera, apparently unaware that he'd botched Okerlund's nickname, "Tonight, bourgeois champions Legion of Doom will face full force of Mother Russia and Brother Iran! We will triumph, just as Soviet Union is destined to destroy American dogs in historic inevitability! Legion of Doom, you are first casualties of final war that will leave Communism victorious over all!"

"You tell him, Nikolai. Your belts await, boys; let's go get them!" Blassie waved his men forward. The Sheik and Volkoff hefted their nations' flags and followed him towards the curtain, while Okerlund remarked in closing, "All right, Gorilla, the challengers are ready for total war in this match, and it's clear the Legion of Doom will have to give their A game to hold on the titles. Back to you and Jesse for the call."

"There's no difference what game they bring, Okerlund; we're winning, and that's that!" Blassie snapped back at him. He paused by the curtain. "All right you two, we're going to have some help upstairs in the control room, but I don't want any slip-ups either way-no alcohol today as I asked?" he glared accusingly at Volkoff.

"Not a drop, Comrade Blassie, as you requested," Volkoff raised his hand as if under oath.

"Good, because we don't want what happened in Moscow at Christmas to repeat itself..."

"Was accident in Moscow, Comrade Blassie; who knew Hogan would be broken out of prison by Soviet technology, and...?"

"Hold the phone, Nikolai, there's the bell; let's go win this thing," Blassie pushed the curtain open and started up the aisle as Finkel announced, "The following contest is for the World Wrestling Federation tag team titles, scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, the challengers: led to the ring by their manager 'Classy' Fred Blassie, at a total combined weight of 571 pounds, from Tehran, Iran, the Iron Sheik, and from Moscow in the Soviet Union, Nikolai Volkoff: the Mega Mercenaries!"

"Ah, shut up, you pencil-neck geeks!" Blassie berated the booing crowd, seizing some flying debris in midair and flinging it back at its throwers. He held the ropes for his men and waited while they waved their flags proudly to more booing, then entered the ring once Volkoff whispered his usual request in Finkel's ear. "Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer told the crowd, "Mr. Volkoff requests that you all rise and respect his singing of the Soviet National Anthem."

"You heard him, pencil-neck geeks, on your feet!" Blassie barked into the microphone. He took the Soviet flag off Volkoff and snapped to attention, singing the anthem along with Volkoff despite the ear-splitting boos. The Sheik grabbed the microphone once the Russian had finished. "Iran, Number One; Russia, Number One; U.S.A. and Legion of Doom, bah, phooey!" he cursed, spitting on the mat. No sooner were the words out of his mouth then the familiar shout of, "OOOOOOOOOOOOHHH, WHAT A RUSH!" reverberated over the loudspeakers, sending the crowd into a frenzy as the electric guitars kicked in. "Their opponents," Finkel looked glad to be finished with the anti-American sentiment for the foreseeable future, "being led to the ring by their manager, 'Precious' Paul Ellering, at a total combined weight of 587 pounds, from Chicago, Illinois, here are the World Wrestling Federation tag team champions, Hawk and Animal: the Legion of Doom!"

"I'm not afraid of you two fruitcakes," Blassie muttered under his breath at Hawk and Animal as they entered the ring and climbed the ring posts, holding the tag belts high to the crowd. He glanced up at the control room and flashed a thumbs-up, even though he couldn't see into it. Inside, Sherri flashed a similarly invisible thumbs-up back. "So what's the plan?" she asked Mr. Hughes, noticing him opening his briefcase and pulling out the components of a gun, "You're going to live ammunition already...?"

"Dart gun," Mr. Hughes grunted, opening a flap to reveal numerous darts, "A mild sedative does the job just as well. I'm saving the live ammo for the Rumble if necessary."

"OK, well get that baby assembled quick, because here we go for the tag gold," she pointed down to the ring, where the action was getting underway. "It'll be Animal versus the Iron Sheik as we start off here," Monsoon remarked from the broadcast position, "Champions against somewhat removed former champions; let's see who wants the gold more."

"Well that's easy, Gorilla; the people climbing up the mountain always want it more than the people on top; hence, I'm siding with the Mega Mercenaries on this one," Ventura opined.

"We shall see. Animal with a strong hip toss of the Sheik into the corner, and now he's stomping on the Iranian's back. Animal with an Irish whip of the Sheik into the ropes, and the big boot to the face sends him down again. Sheik into the corner hard, and Animal with a hard splash on him; so far the champs with all the offense in this one. A tag to Hawk, who immediately goes up on the Sheik's shoulders and starts punching away: ...three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Hawk hauls him out of the corner and hurls him into the opposite one; the Iron Sheik really needs to start mounting some offense in this one..."

Up in the control room, Mr. Hughes dipped a dart in a vial of liquid and jammed it into the dart gun. He pushed the window open, screwed a silencer on the gun, took aim at the ring, and quickly fired, dropping down out of sight immediately afterwards. It proved enough; in the ring, Hawk jerked in place for a moment as the dart sailed into his rear end-the red frills on the back blending in with the red on his tights and making it all but invisible to the crowd. He pulled it out and tossed it aside, then rushed the Sheik in the corner, but abruptly slowed down, allowing the Iranian to slid out of the way in time and tag Volkoff in. The Russian immediately picked Hawk up and gave him a tremendous powerslam. "Strong show of strength by Volkoff there," Monsoon noted, "The big Russian stomping hard on Hawk's chest; now he goes airborne and drives the knees into the chest as well. Hawk to his feet, swings a punch that misses wildly; that's not like him at all."

"Looks like he expended all his energy too soon, Gorilla," Ventura squinted at his screen, "He looks awfully tired out already."

"Hmm, Hawk does look a little tired there," Monsoon squinted himself, "Perhaps it's just the heat of the moment, though. Volkoff with a series of chops to Hawk's chest, and a whip into the ropes-and Volkoff with a flying tackle that takes him down for the cover: one, two...no. Volkoff flings Hawk into the corner hard, and whoa, what a splash there; Hawk tried to get out of the way, but he was too slow...hmm, something doesn't seem quite right there..."

"Not from I how I see it, Gorila; Volkoff's simply the better athlete," Ventura shrugged.

"Volkoff with a backbreaker, and a beauty. Another cover: one, two...just slipped out the back door. Volkoff with a tag to the Sheik, and the Iranian slips his arm around Hawk-wow, that was a violent neckbreaker. Hawk stumbling; he seems completely out of it; this isn't like him at all," Monsoon was frowning now, "Hawk slumping forward while he's upright, as if he's hung over or something, but that can't be right...?"

"And how do you know, Gorilla; maybe Hawk took..."

"Whoa, Iron Sheik hurls Hawk clean out of the ring!" Monsoon exclaimed, "Mega Mercenaries have decidedly seized the advantage in this one, and Hawk appears to be suddenly out of it. Hawk in fact looking dizzy as he stumbles around the ring; now he's climbing back in, and get kicked in the chest with the Sheik's pointed-toed boot. Irish whip into the ropes, and the Sheik with a hard forearm smash on his opponent. Another tag to Volkoff, who flings him into the ropes again-and now he's got him in a bear hug. Volkoff squeezing hard, and Hawk seems dazed and unresponsive. Referee Joey Marella takes hold of his arm...there's one drop...there's a second; one more and we've got new champs...nope, just managed to hold it up and avoid the three. Paul Ellering shouting at his man to try and snap out of it and get with the program; Animal trying to shout encouragement to his partner as well. Volkoff squeezing harder; Hawk slumps forward..."

"He doesn't have much more, Gorilla; we're about to see the change of the titles right now-if, for once, Marella doesn't try to be the usual biased official that he always is..."

"Will you stop!? Joey Marella is easily one of the most respected referees here in the WWF and has always called the matches right down the middle."

"I don't think so, Gorilla; he's saved Hogan's title more often than Hogan himself; he should have been the one banned for life and not poor Danny Davis..."

"I'm not listening to this, Jesse, because I'm tired of you attacking Joey Marella every time he steps into the ring. Marella now going for another set of arm drops: there's one...and two...and again Hawk keeps it up to avoid the three. Volkoff releases him, kicks him contemptuously, now off the ropes; he's going for the big splash...and misses! Hawk crawling to the corner; Animal's got that arm extended; they're getting closer...no, Sheik runs in and nails Animal to prevent the tag," he groaned, "The both of them whip Hawk into the ropes and down him again with a double clothesline."

"Look at Hawk; he looks like he's fighting to stay awake," Ventura pointed at his monitor, "That's what happens when you party all night before a match."

"Now there's no proof of...Volkoff with another tremendous bodyslam of Hawk. The big Russian drops the elbow on him...and again...and again. Now a snap suplex, and a beauty. Tag to the Sheik, who gives Hawk a backbreaker, now he steps into position...and he's getting ready to slap on the Camel Clutch."

"And you don't get out of that; Hogan only did it through sheer luck to win the world title, and nobody's gotten out of it since then."

"And there it is; the Camel Clutch is on Hawk," Monsoon rose to his feet, "Iron Sheik pulling for all it's worth; Hawk looking even worse for the wear now. Joey Marella asking him if he wants to quit; Hawk shaking his head wildly; it's clear he's not giving up as long as there's an ounce of fight left in him."

"Well if he wants to, but then the Sheik'll have to literally break his back and leave him a cripple."

"Iron Sheik continuing to apply the Camel Clutch hard; Hawk looks like he's fading...and the Sheik releases it and raises his hands in elation; he thinks he's won, but I don't think Hawk submitted," Monsoon stared hard at the screen, "Freddie Blassie screaming at the Sheik that Hawk in fact didn't submit and to put the Camel Clutch back on him...but it's too late, Hawk with a tag to a very fresh Animal!" he shouted as the tag was made, "Animal into the ring in a flash, and a hard clothesline to the Iron Sheik-and another on the rebound!"

"Stupid mistake by the Sheik; he should have held on until Hawk passed out," Ventura muttered in disgust.

"And he's paying for it now; Animal sends him off the ropes, and now a flying tackle takes him down! The cover: one, two...Volkoff breaks it up-and gets a bodyslam for his trouble! Animal hefting the Iron Sheik in the air-what a powerslam! This place is going crazy! Paul Ellering shouting at him to put the Mega Mercenaries away; Animal nods, and a tag to Hawk-who starts climbing up the ropes!" he leaned forward in anticipation, "I think the Iron Sheik is about to take a trip into the Doomsday Device!"

"Oh no he's not," Mr. Hughes muttered from the control room. He slid the dart gun out the window and fired another dart that zipped straight into Animal's rear end as well. Animal jerked upright just as he had the Sheik set up on his shoulders for the Doomsday Device, then swayed and toppled backwards to the mat. "Cover, cover!" Blassie screamed at the Sheik, who crawled on top of Animal for the cover. The Classy One then frowned, "Wait, not him, he's not legal..."

And indeed the referee stood by, refusing to count-and thus allowing the legal Hawk to jump off the top rope and deck the Sheik hard in the face on the way down. He immediately fell on top of the Sheik for the cover. "Nikolai, here!" Blassie fired his cane towards the Russian, "We'll do it the old-fashioned way!"

He rushed into the ring and shoved Marella to the mat just as his hand was about to drop for the three count. "Get out of here, Blassie!" Marella shouted at him.

"Make me, make me!" Blassie taunted him, pushing him until he saw, out of the corner of his eye, Volkoff nail Hawk over the head with his cane, then roll him over so the Sheik was on top. Blassie quickly rushed back out of the ring, allowing Marella to see the apparent pin and slide into position for the count. "One," he started counting along with the referee, a smile spreading on his face, "two, THREE!"

The bell rang loudly to tremendous booing. "We've got it, we've got it!" Volkoff was dancing in joy as Marella handed he and the Sheik the tag team belts.

"Darn right we've got it, and they're not taking this away from us, boys!" Blassie thrust his arm skyward in celebration. "And thank you," he whispered, pointing at the control room. "Get it right, Finkel," he told the announcer, climbing into the ring to announce the official decision.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Finkel announced, looking rather disappointed at the outcome, "The winners of this bout, and NEEEEEEEEEW World Wrestling Federation tag team champions, the team of the Iron Sheik and Nikolai Volkoff; the Mega Mercenaries!"

"As I said," the Sheik grabbed the microphone, "Iran, Number One; Russia, Number One; U.S.A. and Legion of Doom, bah, phooey!" he spit on the fallen Hawk and Animal, "And shut up, you filthy baboons!" he bellowed at the booing, jeering crowd, thrusting his belt high in the air in defiance, "We are the champions now; we demand respect!"

"Come on, boys, let's get going," Blassie picked up his cane and waved the Mega Mercenaries out of the ring, "Our work here is finished. Sorry, Paul," he sneered at a fuming Ellering outside the ring, "But when you play the game, you always end up fighting more hungry dogs."

* * *

><p>"Great work, Freddie, Mr. Hughes, great work," Don Vincenelli applauded, watching the footage of the tainted victory on his penthouse TV.<p>

"We're in the money," Stefano crowed, high-fiving one of the cheering goons behind the sofa, "Now Tunney'll have to take us seriously..."

"It's a start, Stefano, but we need the world title to really turn the screws," his uncle reminded him, "If Mr. Hughes can come through for us with that, then I'm making sure he gets a big promotion for it."

* * *

><p>"Let's see, right...there," the Boss Man frowned and pointed at the backstage TV monitor at a small red blur that could just be seen flying into Animal's rear end, ultimately ruining the planned Doomsday Device, "That sure looks foreign to me. Maybe you're really on to something here, Hart."<p>

"I suspect that...Hawk, Animal," Bret hailed the now ex-champions as they and Ellering gloomily trudged by the former prison guard and he, "Don't feel bad; I think the two of you were cheated out of the belts. Did you feel anything hit you in the rear end during the match...?"

"WEEEEEEELLLL, that's a big yes," Hawk grumbled, still looking groggy, "Felt it hit me right here; dart of some kind," he rubbed the dart's impact spot, "Otherwise, we'd probably have cleaned house with those two fascists. Too bad the ref's decision's final, or we'd protest."

"Well, I think something's afoot here; I'm sure you saw everything that went crazy in my match earlier," the Hitman told the tag specialists, who nodded, "We can't get you the titles back tonight, but maybe we can stop this before it goes any further in the Royal Rumble. Keep an eye on the screen here," he stepped aside to let the Legion of Doom have an unobstructed view, "If anything happens in this last match or the Rumble itself, let's figure out where it's coming from so we could stop it."

"From what you've been saying, Hart, it seems to reason whoever's behind this is only going to strike in title matches," the Boss Man surmised, "So I'll wager nothing big'll happen between Ramon and Valentine."

"Better to watch nonetheless, Boss Man," Bret stared intently at the screen as Valentine entered the arena behind Jimmy, "Anything that might give us a clue would be helpful."

* * *

><p>"The following contest is scheduled for one fall." Finkel announced the final match before the Royal Rumble to the crowd, "Coming down the aisle with his manager, the Mouth of the South Jimmy Hart, from Seattle, Washington, weighing 258 pounds, here is Greg 'the Hammer' Valentine!"<p>

"Yellow robe for the Hammer tonight, and he looks very determined for this matchup with his former Survivor Series partner," Monsoon noted on his own monitor.

"Of course he's determined, Gorilla; Razor Ramon tried to unfairly take all the credit for their Survivor Series victory, and Valentine's simply going to put that ingrate in his place," Ventura said smarmily.

"Now you know that's not what happened at all, Jesse; it was Valentine who started bragging, and Razor Ramon simply tried to get the record straight. And certainly there's no denying the Bad Guy has the home field advantage in this match in front of his hometown fans."

"What hometown fans; he's an immigrant. And furthermore..."

"Hold that thought; here he comes now," Monsoon turned to the aisle as a loud cheer signified Ramon's arrival. "His opponent," Finkel continued, "from right here in Miami, weighing 287 pounds, Razor Ramon!"

"Huge support here for Razor Ramon, who's taking the time to shake hands with the fans on the way to the ring," Monsoon smiled at Ramon's new attitude with the fans.

"You know, that's the one thing I don't get with this guy; why is he still calling himself 'The Bad Guy' when he ain't acting bad anymore?" Ventura complained.

"It's for intimidation purposes, Jesse; he wants everyone to know he's a tough guy who won't go down easy. And I can remember a time when you sang Razor Ramon's praises; now, you seem to hate his guts."

"Well, Gorilla, he turned out not to be the guy I thought he was; he's too much of a softie," the Body grumbled in disgust, "And he's a glory hound, trying to take all of Valentine's honors-look at him in there now, taunting the Hammer."

"Hammer, you're going down tonight, _chico_," Ramon was in fact growling at his former Survivor Series partner. He flicked his toothpick contemptuously at Valentine-prompting the Hammer to rush forward and nail him with a hard forearm smash as the bell rang. "Action already hot and heavy as we get underway, and Valentine, true to his nickname, hammering away on Razor Ramon's back," Monsoon called the action, "Now a kick to the Bad Guy's chest, and Valentine drives his knees into his chest. Hammer whips him hard into the corner, rushes in to...no, Razor Ramon gets the legs up and stops him cold. Ramon with a hard chop to the chest, now picks Valentine up and a big slam! Ramon off the ropes, a diving splash and a cover: one, two...not quite. Ramon drags Valentine to the corner, starts smashing his head into the turnbuckle: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Irish whip into the ropes and a spinning kick takes the Hammer down again. Jimmy Hart shouting instructions through his megaphone, trying to get his man back in it, but at the moment to no avail, as Razor off the ropes and drives the knees into his chest. Another cover: one, two...foot was on the ropes."

"Yeah, Valentine doesn't go down that easy."

"But at the moment he's in deep trouble, and Razor Ramon whips him hard into the corner; now he strides up to him and gives him a series of elbows to the face. Now Valentine flung into the opposite corner as well; Razor up on his shoulders, punching away. Look of deep concern on the Mouth of the South's face as he's watching his man take a whipping early on in this one. Ramon picks Valentine up, and a big atomic drop sends him reeling. Ramon now going up to the top rope; he's going to take flight-and down goes the Hammer with a hard chop! Another cover: one, two...look at that, Jimmy Hart grabs the leg and tries to pull him off. Razor Ramon furious, hauls the Mouth up by the collar; he thought he had it there, and Hart cost..."

"Hey, look at Valentine; he's taking off his shin guard," Ventura pointed at the Hammer, unlacing it with a dark grin.

"I see that, and we all know Greg Valentine has used that shin guard before in matches when he's been down. Valentine with the shin guard in hand, Ramon letting go of Jimmy Hart and turning...oh no, he nailed him square in the face with it; referee Dick Woehrle did not see it!" he groaned once Valentine leveled Ramon with the shin guard.

"Of course he didn't see it, Gorilla; Jimmy Hart was protesting to him about the so-called Bad Guy's manhandling of him."

"He was distracting the ref so he wouldn't see Valentine use the shin guard-and now Woehrle sees him covering Razor; no, not like this!"

"Yeah, and here we go: one, two...WHAT?" Ventura roared in shock as Ramon kicked out at the last possible minute, "How did he survive that?"

"He has a lot more heart than you give him credit for, Jesse, that's why."

"Well heart isn't going to save him now, because now the Hammer has the advantage," Ventura grinned, watching Valentine fling Ramon into the ropes and down him with a hard blow to the face. Strutting confidently, the Hammer flung his foe into the corner and splashed him, then snapped him hard over his head and jumped on his chest. "Tide has certainly turned in this one," Monsoon conceded, "Greg Valentine now with a full head of steam-and now he's draping Razor's neck over the ropes and jumping on his back; come on!"

"He's just paying back everything Razor did to him in the beginning of the match, that's all. And now several stomps to the groin area by the Hammer; good thinking there," the Body pointed out Valentine stomping away, "He wants Razor nice and softened up when he slaps on the Figure Four Leglock."

"Valentine apparently not ready to go for the Figure Four just yet; takes hold of Ramon's legs, and a slingshot hard into the corner. Valentine now dragging him out of the ring-oh no, slams the leg into the ring post! And now the other leg! Valentine back up on the apron-look at this, he dives over the ropes right onto Razor Ramon's head. A few more stomps to the groin..."

"Jimmy Hart's giving him the signal for the Figure Four; this one's about to end quickly."

"Greg Valentine dragging Razor Ramon into the middle of the ring, and indeed, yes, here comes the Figure Four Leglock...NO, RAZOR RAMON WITH A TREMENDOUS KICKOUT, SENDING VALENTINE FLYING INTO THE POST, AND I THINK THE HAMMER HURT THE SHOULDER BAD!" Monsoon roared with the rest of the arena.

"Well, I'll give the Bad Guy some credit there, but you don't need a strong shoulder to execute the Figure Four..."

"He won't get the chance; Ramon to his feet, and now pounding the Hammer's face off the turnbuckle again!" Monsoon declared excitedly, "Now picks the Hammer up, and a big bodyslam; the pendulum has swung the other way again in this one! Valentine whipped into the ropes-whoa, an awful lot of verticality there as the Hammer flung high over Ramon's head. Jimmy Hart now looking panicked...and for good reason, as Razor Ramon positions Valentine's head between his legs...and now he hoists him up on his shoulders," he rose to his feet in anticipation, "The Hammer is about to get nailed hard by the Razor's Edge! Ramon holding, holding, a thumbs-up to the crowd...and the Razor's Edge to Valentine! Forget about it!"

A quick three count sealed the win for Ramon. "A strong win for Razor Ramon in front of his hometown crowd; listen to them going berserk for this guy," Monsoon smiled at the Bad Guy's ovation.

"All I have to say is, Razor got lucky; if Valentine had been quicker applying the Figure Four, he'd have won this one easy," Ventura muttered.

"Well sometimes luck can be just as important in a match as talent. All smiles for Razor Ramon as he soaks in the applause of his hometown fans, and I can predict this young man has a strong future ahead of himself here in the WWF. And now, the moment you've waited for is at hand; the Royal Rumble is next, and one of the thirty participants will walk out of Miami Arena tonight as world champion..."


	8. Chapter 8

"Attention all Royal Rumble participants, please report to the staging area behind the curtain at this time," came the announcement over the PA system in the bowels of the arena. Inside his cubicle, Savage rose to his feet, a determined look on his face. "Well, this is it," he told Elizabeth at their cubicle's TV monitor, "Wish me luck; I know I'm gonna do it, yeah."

"I hope so, Randy," she gave him a good luck kiss, "Just remember, don't get so caught up with trying to punish Jake that you lose focus of the rest of the match."

"I'll try, but I can't make any guarantees; he's got a royal beatdown coming for a long time now, yeah," the Macho Man declared. He started for the curtain dividing the cubicle from the outside, but stopped at the threshold. Something had been nagging at him for the last twenty-four hours. "Say," he turned to his bride, "If Hogan did manage to win it again, what would you think?"

"Well, it would be great if he did win it; he has been a great champion so far," Elizabeth confessed with a smile, "Of course, I hope we win it, but it certainly wouldn't be bad if Hulk managed to retain it. Since we've formed the Mega Powers, he's become almost like another brother to me and you, I feel. Why?"

"Oh, just wondering. Well, here it goes," Savage stepped through the curtain. "Like a brother, like a brother," he mumbled softly to himself, frowning, "What exactly does that mean? I hope it's not what I hope it doesn't mean. Oh well, if I win, it won't matter, and I just know in my gut I'm gonna win, ooooh yeah. And there's the champ now," he caught sight of Hulk in the mob of wrestlers lining up in the staging area, "Tonight, the crown will change, and Macho Madness will in fact be crowned supreme, yeah. And there's the Snakeman," he glared at Roberts on the other side of the mob, "Bearer'll have to pick up your pieces when we're done tonight and give you a burial, yeah!"

"May I have your attention please, gentlemen?" announced a well-dressed WWF official into a bullhorn from atop a stepstool near the curtain, "At this time, we'd like you all to line up in the following order..."

* * *

><p>"Ladies and gentlemen," Finkel announced to the anxious crowd, "At this time, I would like to introduce the very esteemed president of the World Wrestling Federation, Mr. Jack Tunney, with a few salient comments."<p>

Polite applause greeted Tunney as he climbed into the ring, the world championship belt in hand. "Thank you, Howard," he commended the announcer. "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls," he announced to the crowd, "On behalf of myself and all of us here with the World Wrestling Federation, I welcome you all to the main event of this evening, the Royal Rumble. At the end of this contest, the winner will become World Wrestling Federation Champion," he held the belt high, "To all the competitors who will soon be entering this ring, I wish you all good luck, and may the best man win. Thank you."

He got more applause as he left the ring, where he handed the belt to the timekeeper and took a seat by the ring. "Thank you, Mr. Tunney," Finkel commended him, "And now, ladies and gentlemen, it is time for the Royal Rumble!" After allowing a moment for a rather strong applause, he continued, "In a moment, the wrestlers who drew numbers one and two in our blind draw will enter the ring and begin the Royal Rumble. Every two minutes thereafter, another participant will be added until all thirty entrants have entered the ring. A wrestler can only be eliminated by being thrown over the top rope, with both feet touching the floor, and it will be every man for himself. The one man left standing at the end of the Royal Rumble will be crowned World Wrestling Federation Heavyweight Champion! And now, introducing first, the man who, at random, drew Number One..."

_"Here comes the Ax, and here comes the Smasher; we're Demolition; walking disasters. Pain and Destruction are our middle names!"_ bellowed Demolition's theme song as Ax walked through the curtain and down to the ring. "And now," Finkel went on once Ax had entered, "the man who, at random, drew Number Two..."

A loud gasp rose up throughout the arena as, "_Here comes the Ax, and here comes the Smasher..."_ rose up again. "I don't believe it; Smash drew number two!" at the broadcast position, Monsoon was equally stunned to see the other half of Demolition entering second, "What did you suppose the odds would be of that?"

"Who knows, Gorilla, but this ought to be interesting," Ventura leaned forward in his seat in anticipation. And indeed, no sooner had the bell rung to start the Rumble than Ax and Smash immediately launched themselves at each other without the slightest hesitation. "Whoa, look at this, total war between Demolition!" Monsoon exclaimed, "They're really going at it tooth and nail here!"

"Well, when the world title's on the line anything goes," Ventura theorized, "Now my question is, will this have any long term impact on them as a team?"

"Only time will tell, I suppose. Ax shoves Smash down and starts pounding away on his back-and now Smash drops him with a leg sweep and starts stomping in the groin area. A view now from over the shoulders of the two referees assigned to the Royal Rumble match this year, Mike Chioda and Tim White, as they observe the action going on inside the ring. Of course, the Rumble referees are stationed outside the ring to verify a wrestler's feet have touched the ground; inside the ring itself, anything goes. And anything indeed going now inside the ring, as Ax and Smash pulling each other's hair-and Smash stops that with a headbutt. Smash hauls his partner up, kicks him in the chest-and hurls him out of the ring-but no, Ax grabs hold of the ropes and catches himself, so he can legally come in...and come in he does, plowing into his partner from behind! Smash stumbles into the ropes, and...Ax dragging him up, whip into the corner-Smash ducks under the clothesline, ducks under the next clothesline...whoa, they take each other down with clotheslines! Both members of Demolition laying in the middle of the ring; they've already worn themselves out in this one."

"You know, I feel bad for whoever number three is, Gorilla; it goes without saying that Ax and Smash will turn on whoever that is and go full out to eliminate him," the Body theorized.

"It stands to reason, yes. The clock's in fact now counting down to that likely unlucky third entrant: five, four, three, two, one...it's Yokozuna," he exclaimed as the former sumo champion emerged from the curtain behind Fuji.

"That's interesting, Gorilla; if anyone could outlast Demolition's combined efforts, it's Yoko," Ventura remarked, "Plus, if anyone could go all the way from the three hole, it's him too."

"Yokozuna with a bow to Mr. Fuji, who now has to turn around and leave; no managers allowed at ringside for the Royal Rumble. Look at this, Ax and Smash both jump Yokozuna the moment he climbs into the ring-and Yokozuna swats them away like flies."

"Can't stop Yoko that way; you've got to get creative to eliminate him."

"And getting creative Demolition is: Ax climbing up to the top rope while Smash runs under Yokozuna's legs to distract him. Here comes Ax off the top rope-staggers the big guy with a hard blow. Yokozuna wobbles...and Smash kicks out the leg, and Yokozuna is down!"

"Ordinarily that would be good, yeah, but of course the goal here ain't to pin the other guy."

"No sir, but Ax and Smash pounding away in unison on Yokozuna's chest; they aim to keep him down as long as possible-but not long enough; Yokozuna connects with a pair of roundhouse rights that sends both members of Demolition staggering. Yokozuna hauling himself to his feet-as Ax jumps on his back; he's riding the big guy. Yokozuna swatting towards him, while Smash off the ropes and rams him hard in the chest. Yokozuna staggers, but stays on his feet, and still stays upright as Smash smashes him again. Yokozuna backs hard into the corner, which gets Ax to release the grip. Yokozuna rams his rear end into the post repeatedly, delivering more damage to Ax; now Smash nails him with a hard chop to the face. The clock's ticking again; looks like it's time for another man to enter, coming in in three, two, one...it's Rick Martel," Monsoon noticed the Model appear out of the tunnel next.

"If I were him, I'd take my time; let Demolition expend their energy on Yoko, then pick who he wants to take first," Ventura noted, "Of course, if I were in there, I'd try and get Yoko out right away; since he's clearly a heavy Rumble favorite, better to team up with everyone else and stop him first."

"And it looks like that's exactly what Rick Martel plans on doing first; the Model with a few quick blows to Yokozuna's chest, and now he and Demolition are straining in unison to try and get the former sumo champ over the top rope."

"But look, even with all three of them, they can barely lift him-and check that out, Yoko decks all three of them with one blow!" the Body exclaimed.

"Yokozuna not going down without a fight, and now he picks Ax up; whoa, what a backbreaker there by the big guy. Martel getting in a few kicks on Ax as well-and look out, Yokozuna throws Ax out; there's the first elimination of the Rumble."

"Ax just didn't have it after Yoko crushed him into the corner, Gorilla."

"Perhaps not, but at least his partnership with Smash is probably still intact. And Smash now unofficially teaming up with the Model as he and Martel again strain to get Yokozuna out of the ring. Both men delivering hard kicks to Yokozuna's chest, ducking under the big guy's swings...but look out, Yokozuna falls forward right on top of Smash! Yokozuna leaping up and down on Smash, apparently trying to crush him; Martel kicking him in the back-and takes a shot to the face for his efforts. Yokozuna up, whips Smash into the far corner and rushes him...but Smash gets out of the way in time-and now he and Martel charge at him and stagger him with a double clothesline! And another from behind! Yokozuna wobbling, still on his feet for now; he withstands another double clothesline by Smash and Martel...and look at that, Martel flattens Smash with a cheap shot from behind!" he growled at the Model's abrupt double-cross of Smash.

"Well you know how it works, Gorilla; every man for himself."

"Yes, yes, I know. Martel twisting Smash's arm and now a karate kick to the chest; another man coming in in five, four, three, two, one...look out, it's Tito Santana!" he exclaimed as the other half of what had once been Strike Force rushed out of the tunnel, "Martel turns and sees him too late; Santana going straight for his former partner and going to town on him right off the bat!"

"He's obsessed with punishing Martel for his so-called crimes, that's what it is."

"No so-called, Jesse; you were there next to me at this very table when Martel walked out on Santana at Wrestlemania without any provocation."

"You call Chico smashing Martel in the face unprovoked!?"

"It was certainly an accident by all accounts-and here we go; Santana pounding Martel's face into the turnbuckle repeatedly...and now he's trying to get him up and over the top! Martel straining hard to try and stay in the ring; Santana pushing hard to try and get him out...nope, Yokozuna pancakes them both-and now he smashes their heads together. Yokozuna lifting Santana up; he's trying to throw him out now. Santana grabbing the top rope; he's fighting for his life now against the awesome power of Yokozuna-and Smash hitting Yokozuna in the back, making him drop Tito."

"Lucky break there for Chico; he was half out of it anyway."

"The name is TITO, Jesse; how many times do I have to tell you!?"

"That's what I said, Chico."

Monsoon sighed in frustration. "Smash getting paintbrushed by Yokozuna while Martel starts stomping on a downed Santana. Smash off the ropes and rams Yokozuna in the chest, staggering him slightly; meanwhile, the countdown's starting for the next man, who'll be out in three, two, one...and it's Mr. Perfect...who looks beaten-up already," he noticed Perfect's dazed, bloodied appearance as he staggered up the aisle, "Word's reached us here at the broadcast position that Rick Rude attacked Mr. Perfect in a blind rage backstage for interfering in the Intercontinental ladder match; Perfect was cleared by the WWF doctors, but let's see how this affects his performance in the Rumble."

"Well, it'll take a lot more than a bunch of chair shots to stop Mr. Perfect," Ventura claimed, "While he probably made a bit of a mistake interfering in Rick Rude's match, and getting Rude mad enough to retalliate, he's far more accomplished to let that slow him down, and even after what he seems to have gone through has a good chance of going the distance."

"We'll see in a minute as Perfect goes straight for Smash and starts whaling away at him; Smash returns the blows, and now a hip toss sends Perfect down to the mat. Meanwhile, Martel and Santana continue trading blows in the corner-look out, here comes Yokozuna with a big splash coming-they both move out of the way, and Yokozuna goes halfway over the top! Every other man in the ring swarms him and now they're all straining in unison to try and push him out!"

"As I said earlier, that's a smart idea; get rid of the giant Yoko if you can since he's well-equipped to go the distance."

"But look, even with all five of them working together, Yokozuna's still too heavy to get out. Smash, Perfect, Santana and Martel straining for all it's worth; Yokozuna pressing hard into the apron, and he appears to be holding his own. Now Perfect takes a swing at Santana, and the two of them break off and start going at it-Perfect dragging Santana towards the ropes; Santana grabs the top rope and strains to keep from being pushed over the top...and the clock's starting again for entrant number seven, arriving in seven, six, five, four, three, two, one...Butch from the Bushwhackers," he proclaimed at Butch doing the familiar Bushwhacker Bounce all the way down to the ring.

"He might as well turn around and go back; there's no way he can possibly win the Rumble," Ventura scoffed.

"Now let's be fair here; everyone selected for the Rumble was deemed to have a fair shot, including the Bushwhackers. Butch immediately joins Martel and Smash in trying to eliminate Yokozuna; maybe he's inching a little higher out now-oh no, Yokozuna with a headbutt on Butch..."

"So what; Butch has an empty head; he didn't feel nothing."

"Yokozuna with additional headbutts to Martel and Smash, and now the former sumo champ back on his feet and coming after...he's going for Smash. Smash off the ropes and shoots himself straight into the big guy's chest, staggering him enough to make a clean getaway; meanwhile, Martel decks Perfect and picks up the slack of trying to shove Santana out-no, Santana kicks him in the face and back on his feet! Tito Santana delivering rights and lefts to his former partner..."

Up in the control room, Mr. Hughes dipped another dart into his sedative vial. "Santana?" he asked Sherri.

"Yeah," she nodded, her eyes fixed on the action below, "Just don't hit anyone who works for my colleagues."

With a snort, Mr. Hughes pushed her aside, took aim at the ring, and fired as before. And as before, Tito jerked upright from the impact into his rear end and swiped the dart away, but it was too late; things were starting to spin all around him. "Martel with another set of hard blows, and now Santana looking a bit groggy; I didn't think he was being hit that hard," Monsoon frowned.

"Hey, this is Chico we're talking about, Monsoon; he cracks under pressure, especially pressure being delivered by the real power behind Strike Force, Rick Martel," Ventura cracked.

"Rick Martel seeing his former partner in trouble, gives him, whoa, a tremendous spinning kick that sends him reeling towards the ropes, but not quite over. The countdown's on again for the next man now too, coming your way in five, four, three, two, one...it's Jake the Snake," he frowned at Roberts rushing up the aisle, "At least we won't have to worry about Damien in this one-Roberts has specifically been banned by Jack Tunney from bringing any snakes whatsoever to ringside for the Rumble. We take a look at our esteemed president Jack Tunney now from his seat at ringside, watching Jake like a hawk for any sign his dictum has been broken. Jake immediately goes for the dazed-looking Santana, and a couple of sharp chops to the throat-and now he's choking him out; Jake the Snake roughly choking out Tito Santana right off the bat."

"Well, he can't get disqualified in the Rumble, so I guess he figures, why not?"

"Martel punching Santana in the chest while Jake chokes away; the both of them whip him into the far ropes, come at him with-no, Tito ducks under the attempted double clothesline, swings a...no, he's stumbling in place; he looks just like Hawk did when he looked out of it earlier," he frowned.

"No question there; obviously he and Hawk were using the same stuff earlier."

"Again, Jesse, you can't prove that, and for all you youngsters out there, allow me to say that the World Wrestling Federation has...and Santana knocked out over the top rope courtesy of a hard clothesline by Jake; that's it for his night," Monsoon shook his head at Tito's comparatively inglorious elimination.

"If he really thought he was going the distance in this one, then Chico had a number of screws loose," Ventura snickered.

"It's TITO!"

"Whatever."

Monsoon sighed in frustration. "And Jake now turning on Martel with a hard kick to the chest, and now that short clothesline..."

"Jake's going to try and DDT the Model; he's wanted to do that for a long time now, I hear."

"So have I; no love between Jake Roberts and Rick Martel at all backstage; I understand it had something to do with Martel trying to blind Roberts with his Arrogance spray over some offense or other. Jake in fact hooking the Model into position for the DDT, and here it comes...no, Martel just manages to slip out the back door. The two of them now trading blows, while Mr. Perfect and Smash are going at it in the other corner; Perfect pressing Smash into the corner and climbing up on his shoulders for some additional punches. Perfect...and look at this, Smash flipping him over his head and over the turnbuckle...!"

"Perfect landed on the steps, though; he is not eliminated."

"No he is not, although he looks a little worse for wear now. Smash sliding through the middle rope and rams Perfect's head into the ringpost; between what Rick Rude put him through and what he's going through now, it's been a long, hard night for Mr. Perfect already, and it's only going to get longer. The clock's ticking away again; we'll have our next man in six, five, four, three, two, one...Marty Jannetty of the Rockers."

"Hmm, let's see who he teams up with here, Gorilla; usually he and Shawn Michaels get their kicks double-teaming helpless opponents; without Michaels, let's see who his partner in crime'll be."

"Jannetty starting with a diving dropkick to Yokozuna that rattles the big guy a little. Jannetty takes one arm, Butch takes the other, and the two of them whip Yokozuna off the ropes-everyone else quickly clears out of Yoko's way. Butch and Jannetty to give him a big kick to...no, Yokozuna flattens them both on the rebound with a double forearm smash."

"I love it," Ventura laughed, "Yoko's a lot smarter than you and McMahon give him credit for; he knows how to weasel his way out of situations like that that would doom a lesser guy."

"Yokozuna tries to sit down on Jannetty, but Marty rolls out of the way it time. Now he and Butch use the double forearm smash to knock Yokozuna flat on his back-and now they're climbing the opposite ropes; a high risk maneuver by the two of them, but they leap anyway, square into Yokozuna's chest; if their intention is to soften him up, that's at least working."

"But again, they've got to get him over the top rope to get him out, and if everyone else couldn't do it in unison, I don't see how they can."

"The two of them trying to get Yokozuna up; meanwhile, the battle between Smash and Perfect continues to heat up across the ring, as Smash has Perfect in a headlock and pounds away. And now he's trying to get him over the top-Perfect fighting it, fighting it hard...and a scissor kick to Smash's head breaks the hold. Perfect crawls back under the ropes, gives Smash an atomic drop-and now the hard clothesline over the top, but Smash doesn't go all the way to the floor. Perfect kicking him in the back, trying to get him off the apron...and here we go, ten seconds away from the tenth man to enter the Rumble; hard to believe we're now a third of the way through. Here he comes in four, three, two one...it's the Ultimate Warrior!" he exclaimed as the Warrior shot out of the tunnel like a rocket, reaching the ring in less than four seconds.

"Everybody better watch their backs; the Warrior always abides by the every man for himself principle, Gorilla; he'd throw his mother out of this ring if she was in it if that meant he won the world title."

"Warrior goes straight for Mr. Perfect; hefts him over his head, and a big press slam; listen to this crowd go wild! Ultimate Warrior and Smash trying to shove Perfect out in unison; Perfect bracing his hands against the apron; he's fighting for all it's worth. Look out, here comes Yokozuna from behind, and he throws the both of them out-but only Smash goes all the way to the floor. Warrior grabbing the bottom rope and saving himself for now, but hauled back up by the hair by Mr. Perfect, who's trying to shove him off; Warrior still holding onto the rope, though...and a hard elbow to Perfect's chest breaks that hold."

"But he's still got Yokozuna to worry about...and look at this, Yoko lifting him high in the air; we're about to see the Warrior get a tremendous bodyslam, Gorilla...YEAH!" Ventura roared in delight as Yokozuna delivered a tremendous powerslam to the Warrior in the middle of the ring.

"Yeah, that had to hurt," Monsoon grimaced, "Yokozuna inflicting a tremendous blow to the Ultimate Warrior, who has stated in interviews that he guarantees both a win in the Rumble and admission to the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection with that win, but both accomplishments appearing in jeopardy right now as Yokozuna hurls him into the corner and now a blatant chokehold on the Warrior's throat by the big guy. A cold, emotionless look on Yokozuna's face as he chokes the life out of the Ultimate Warrior; meanwhile, Jake the Snake also choking out Marty Jannetty on the opposite ropes. Roberts now draping Jannetty's throat over the bottom rope and jumping on his back; give me a break!"

"Again, Gorilla, anything goes, so might as well try it."

"Maybe, but it doesn't erase the fact that Jake the Snake is a sick, diseased animal. Jake now trying to toss Jannetty out; Marty holding onto the ropes...wait, back in the corner, Ultimate Warrior with a hard right, and a hard left that backs Yokozuna off!" Monsoon rose to his feet, "Ultimate Warrior grabbing Yokozuna by the legs; I think he's going for the atomic drop...NO, ULTIMATE WARRIOR PICKS YOKOZUNA UP AND SLAMS HIM!" he roared, ecstatic, over the deafening roar of the crowd, "I don't think ANYONE has ever slammed Yokozuna before this!"

"No, I don't think so, but I think this was more Yoko dropping his guard than anything the Warrior did here," Ventura tried to rationalize.

"Yokozuna looking absolutely stunned; I don't think he'd ever thought he could be slammed either. Ultimate Warrior shoves him towards the ropes; let's see if he can get Yokozuna up and over-Butch coming over to help him with it as you see the clock counting down again now. Entrant number eleven coming right up in five, four, three, two, one...and it's Ric Flair, and he's carrying that blasted Real World's Championship belt of his."

"He just wants everyone to know he's the true champ, Gorilla, before he possibly takes the WWF championship tonight."

"Certainly Flair has to be considered one of the favorite in the Royal Rumble. Flair goes after...he's looking around...and he drags Butch off Yokozuna, picks him up, and slams him. Flair hurls Butch into the corner hard, and now Martel joins him in giving Butch an Irish whip off the ropes, and a double drop kick from the two of them downs the Bushwhacker. And now they're trying to push him over the top...and they got him; Butch is eliminated."

"All they did, Gorilla, was just put the guy out of his misery; he knew full well he had no shot at winning the title."

"Flair and Martel now locking up with each other-Flair hip-tosses the Model across the ring, and he's heading over to the Warrior, and an axhandle to the Warrior's back makes him let go of Yokozuna. Ultimate Warrior trading blows with Ric Flair, but again Yokozuna coming up from behind, and he also gives the Warrior an axhandle to the head. And now he and Flair are double teaming him with chops; meanwhile, Jake and Martel have put aside their differences for the moment and are themselves double-teaming Marty Jannetty. And they're-no, Jannetty rams their heads together, and then rams the both of them together! Jannetty grabs Jake, tries to shove him out over the top. He's pushing hard; he just might have him going...no, Martel with a chop to the back of the head saves Jake. Martel and Jannetty trade blows...hold on, Flair signaling to the Model; he's holding the Warrior tight by the arm. Martel nods, takes hold of Jannetty, and he and Flair hurl Jannetty and the Warrior hard into each other; that had to hurt."

"No kidding; I don't think that's how the two of them ever planned to meet face to face."

"Will you stop!? Flair goes airborne and drives the knees into the Warrior's back. Now he steps aside, and here comes Yokozuna-ouch, sits down hard on the Warrior's back! And now here comes Jake with that cold look; he and Flair whip the Warrior into the ropes, and shove him over their heads; that was a lot of height on the Warrior there. And Jake gives the finger twirl signal for the DDT again; is this the end of the Ultimate Warrior's title chances?"

"I think it is, Gorilla. And here goes Jake, slipping him into...what!" Ventura exclaimed as the Warrior reversed the DDT hold, lifted Roberts high and gave him a press slam of his own. "Ultimate Warrior not done fighting yet," Monsoon concluded, "Warrior ducks under Yokozuna's clothesline attempt, and another guy coming in six, five, four, three, two, one...Jerry Saggs of the Nasty Boys."

"Boy, the odds sure aren't too great for the Warrior and Jannetty; they're well outnumbered by guys working either directly for the Million Dollar Corporation or the managers thereof, now including Saggs who of course works for Jimmy Hart."

"Saggs goes straight to work with a flying splash on Jannetty; now he gestures to Martel and raises his armpit; I think Jannetty's about to get a Pit Stop as insult to injury, and indeed he is," Monsoon frowned in disgust, "Saggs and Martel give Jannetty an atomic drop; Jannetty staggers close to the ropes, but doesn't go over them. Saggs rushes him...and Jannetty ducks, and HE almost goes over! Jannetty back to his feet, trying to shove Saggs out-but Perfect with a shot to back of the head that stops that. The action is hot and heavy in the Royal Rumble so far, with only four men so far having been eliminated, and still a lot of the big guns left to enter the Rumble."

"Yep, we've still got Ted DiBiase, the Undertaker, and Earthquake left to show up," Ventura pointed out.

"Same too with Roddy Piper, the Macho Man, and the Hulkster. Ultimate Warrior, meanwhile, being held by Yokozuna and slapped by Flair; the so-called Real World's Champion oozing confidence as he bounces off the ropes...and the Warrior ducks, and he smashes Yokozuna in the chest instead! Warrior slides under Yokozuna's legs, heads over towards Jannetty, and shoves Saggs over the top rope...!"

"But he didn't go out; see, he grabbed the bottom rope."

"Indeed he did grab hold there. Warrior and Jannetty shaking hands, and the two of them flatten Perfect with a double clothesline-and then another. Saggs coming back in, he rushes them, and gets tossed high in the air by the Warrior. Jannettty going off to brawl with Martel, while the Warrior turns his sights back to Perfect. Ultimate Warrior nailing Mr. Perfect hard, and now he's lifting him over the top, straining to get him out. Warrior straining hard-but from behind, Jake the Snake with his arms around the throat, yanking him back and hurling him to the canvas. Jake approaching Perfect as he starts to climb back in...and look at that, Jake shoves Perfect down to the floor; how about that for ingratitude!?" Monsoon was miffed.

"Well, Gorilla, Jake always says, never trust a snake."

"Yeah, yeah, don't remind me. The next countdown is underway, and Jake glancing rather nervously back towards the curtains; he knows full well that sooner or later, Randy Savage is coming out, and Savage wants to deal with him before everyone else. And here's the thirteenth participant coming out in four, three, two, one...whoa oh, it's Hot Rod!" he exclaimed as the crowd went ballistic at the sight of Piper storming up the aisle, a determined expression on his face, "And Flair's looking a little nervous in the ring; Hot Rod's reportedly had it for him for a while now."

"Yeah, I heard that too, Gorilla, that the two of them came close to blows backstage at the one point when Piper had the gall to criticize him for being the Real World's Champion."

"Which of course, Flair certainly is not, and Piper may very well be. Hot Rod charging straight at Flair, who tries to get Yokozuna between him and his foe, but Piper goes around the former sumo champ, and look at that, he's taking it to Flair and then some! And now he hurls Flair into Yokozuna from behind; this crowd's going wild!"

"But it didn't take Yoko down."

"That wasn't the intention; he wanted to soften Flair up nice and good. Piper trying to throw Flair out over the top in one fell swoop-nope, Flair blocking against the ropes. Piper strains harder to get him over...and a thumb in the eye by Flair breaks that up. Flair pounding back on Hot Rod now, as across the ring, Jannetty hooks up with Saggs again; these two long time tag team rivals have had it out for each other for a while now. The two of them trading blows...and Saggs in fact with a low blow, and he's trying to push Jannetty out. Jannetty fighting it, here comes the Warrior from behind...whoa, Warrior shoved them both out!"

"No, just Jannetty; Saggs hooked his ankles around the bottom rope to hold himself up. You want to talk about ingratitude, Gorilla, how about the Warrior stabbing his so-called friend Jannetty in the back right now after everything they did with teamwork earlier?"

"Well it was clear we was aiming for Saggs, Jesse, and Marty Jannetty just got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Warrior stomping on Saggs's feet to make him let go-no, Saggs swings himself back up to the apron and rams his head into the Warrior's leg, and that stops the attack. Saggs crawling back into the ring, knocks the Warrior down-and takes a shot from Martel. The Model pushing Saggs aside, jumps on the Warrior's back-and I think he's turning him over into the Boston Crab..."

"Yeah, go for it, Martel; whatever it takes to soften him up real good."

"Rick Martel pouring it on on the Ultimate Warrior's legs; meanwhile, another man will enter in five, four, three, two, one...and here comes the Macho Man!" he declared as Savage rushed out from behind the curtain at full speed, his eyes coldly zeroing in on Roberts right off the bat, "And look at Jake; he's bailing out under the bottom rope right away!"

"He's only thinking of his health, Monsoon; Savage has made it clear he's going to genuinely kill Jake if he gets the chance."

"Savage sliding right out under the bottom rope on the other side; he saw Jake trying to run, and he's caught him already! Macho Man pounding away hard on Jake the Snake right off the bat; no countouts in effect for the Rumble, so he can stay out there as long as he wants."

"Yeah, but he's not being a good sport going after Jake like this."

"Well can you blame him, Jesse? After what happened last month in Paul Bearer's funeral parlor, where Jake almost had Elizabeth bitten with that banned king cobra of his, who couldn't understand if Savage wanted to take care of personal business first-and the Macho Man slams the Snake's head into those steel steps before he rolls him back into the ring."

"I'd try and roll away if I was Jake; get as many people between Savage and myself as I could."

"Jake the Snake trying to roll away, but Macho Man yanks him up, drags him to the turnbuckle, and starts smashing his face into it repeatedly. Macho Man holding Jake by the hair, giving that finger twirl to the crowd, and he's rushing for the ropes-over the second rope rather than the top, but the usual result, as Jake snaps back hard into the ring."

"Smart thinking by Macho; he knew he'd be out if he went over the top as he usually does with that move, so he improvised."

"And Savage going up to the top rope now; I think the elbow is about to be unleashed on the Snake once more. You can try and crawl away Jake, but this one's for Elizabeth; this for you hitting her on national TV, this is for you threatening her in the funeral parlor with the cobra, this is the full force of Macho Madness come right at you-right now! Roberts nailed hard with the flying elbow! And Savage hefts him up over his head, gives the finger twirl again, and hurls the Snake out; Jake's night's over!"

"But look, Macho ain't done yet; he's sliding back out under the bottom rope, and now he's grabbing a steel chair from ringside; this is going too far now!"

"This is justice-and Jake takes a cold, hard shot to the back of the head!" Monsoon roared in approval along with the entire arena, "Roberts doesn't know where he is, stumbling on rubbery legs towards the aisle-and Savage lands another shot on him! Jake the Snake out of the Rumble, out of the title shot, running for his life up the aisle, Savage running after him, and he hurls the chair through the curtains after Jake!"

"Now he should get fined for that, Monsoon; suppose that hit someone other than Jake!?"

"I'm sure Savage would apologize in that case. Macho Man taking his time coming back to the ring; just about the entire two minutes between him and the next guy was taken up with that assault on Jake, and now the next countdown is underway. We're about to reach the halfway mark in the Royal Rumble; the fifteenth entrant coming your way in five, four, three, two, one...uh oh, look out, it's Andre!" he exclaimed as the Giant lumbered into sight, "Over his illustrious career, Andre the Giant has been exceptional at battle royals, and this is the biggest one of all for him."

"Certainly he was a heavy favorite coming in, I'll grant that much. Now let's see how he measures up with Yokozuna; I've been waiting to see how the Giant measures up with him."

"I'm sure many of the fans here in the WWF have been hoping for that encounter as well. And indeed, Yokozuna and Andre staring each other down intently once the Giant gets into the ring, still staring...and now they rush each other and bump hard..."

"Neither guy budges, though."

"The two of them back up and try it again...and again no advantage. They get set for a third...and look at Flair nailing Andre in the back...and the big guy paintbrushes him hard!"

"But here comes Yoko, and he smashes the Giant hard-and Andre's halfway over the ropes! Yoko straining to get him out; this might be a major upset...!"

Andre holding onto the ropes; he's grimacing, and Yokozuna's choking him out too. But look at this, Andre shoves the former sumo champ backwards! And now the two of them lock up; get ready for the real life Clash of the Titans!"

"Better than any movie, yeah."

"And while they're duking it out, Savage landing some shots on Flair; it's personal between them too, given Flair was once Elizabeth's fiance, but then hung her out to dry..."

"Nah, I think Liz exaggerated that to get Macho's sympathy and tempt him away from Sherri."

"She did not! Have you ever once known Elizabeth to lie?"

"Not explicitly, but I'm sure she has at some point."

"You're hopeless, you know that, Jesse!? It's hard to believe anyone can doubt Elizabeth's honesty, especially when Flair has a history of taking up and dumping women like buckets of water-Ricky Steamboat's bride is presumed to be one of them from what I hear. And look at this, Savage rams Flair hard into the ringpost! Macho Man glancing over his shoulder, seeing the Ultimate Warrior brawling with Martel..."

"How long has the Model been in here, Gorilla? Is he the longest...?"

"No, Yokozuna came in before him, but they're both closing in on half an hour now. Savage hustling over to Piper, who's about to get shoved out of the ring by Saggs; Savage nails the Nasty Boy, hauls Piper back in just in time; looks like they're conversing, pointing over at the Warrior, who takes a hard shot from Martel, right towards the two of them, in fact...and just like that, Savage and Piper grab the Ultimate Warrior and throw him out!"

"Well, give the two of them credit there, Gorilla; I can't stand the Warrior any more than they can, so I think they deserve credit for saving the title from him; I mean, can you actually imagine a blathering idiot like the Ultimate Warrior as WWF champion?"

"Well, I wouldn't put down a superb athlete such as the Ultimate Warrior like that, but either way, his chance at the gold and likely of joining the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection is over for tonight, and he looks miffed as he leaves the ringside area."

"And look at Savage and Piper; they look thrilled to be rid of the Warrior; a high five to celebrate."

"Neither man likes the Ultimate Warrior much, they've more or less come forward to say that in interviews, and now the two of them turning their sights to the Model. A double clothesline on Martel by the two members of the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection-and in the middle of the ring, Andre and Yokozuna whaling away hard at each other; the action's really heating up now..."

* * *

><p>"It's me, the Hitman; let me in for a moment," Bret knocked hard on the back door to the production truck outside Miami Arena. There was a brief pause before the door swung open, and McMahon's face appeared in the crack. "Oh, hello, Bret, what's...hey," he protested as Bret, the Boss Man, and Hawk and Animal pushed their way inside. "Hey, what do you think you're doing; we're doing a live broadcast here, you guys!" the director protested.<p>

"This may be life or death, or something close to it; who's recording the tapes!?" the Boss Man asked the entire crew.

"Uh, over here," the technician by the video recorder raised his hand.

"Run it back; I need to look at something," the former prison guard instructed him.

"I can't; like Mike just said, we're live; I have to tape this for..."

"He said run it back!" Animal jammed a finger onto the Rewind button. "How far back?" he asked Bret and the Boss Man.

"At least till where Tito was eliminated; then we'll check you and Hawk out," Bret instructed him, "And hopefully by then, we'll be able to see where whatever they were shooting at the ring definitively came from."

"Shooting what?" the director asked.

"Call security once we have everything figured out," the Boss Man instructed him, "I think someone might be conspiring to make sure certain people lose tonight."

* * *

><p>"Take out Savage next; I want him to suffer most," Sherri urged Mr. Hughes on as he loaded the rest of the drugged darts into his dart gun, "Give him the full salvo."<p>

Mr. Hughes grunted and took aim at Savage in the middle of the ring, where he was slugging it out with Martel at the moment-but at the last second, Saggs stumbled into his path, and the darts were fired at him instead of the Macho Man. "Damn!" he muttered loudly.

"Damn!" Sherri repeated the epitaph. "Well, hit him with something else, then!" she shouted at him.

"Give me time, give me time!" Mr. Hughes flipped open a secret compartment in his briefcase to reveal the disassembled parts of a high-powered rifle just as the buzzer sounded to signal the next entrant below. "'Cowboy' Bob Orton's the next man in...and Piper sees him coming right away," Monsoon noticed the Scotsman glaring coldly at Orton entering the ring, "And look out, Hot Rod over and starts whaling away on Ace right away! These two of course with a history; Bob Orton was once Piper's bodyguard..."

"Yeah, before Piper sold out his soul to Hogan," Ventura grumbled.

"More like Piper realized the error of his ways and wised up, as I see it. Piper rears Orton back and rams him hard into Saggs-and Saggs is starting to look a little dazed too, just like Tito was earlier."

"Well, in his case, I think it might just be adrenaline; he's been pumped up for the match and his shot at the world title..."

"If so, it may be too much adrenaline; Saggs slumped halfway over the ropes looking half asleep. Hot Rod meanwhile slamming Orton's face into the turnbuckle-and across the ring, Savage is trying to get Martel out; he's pushing hard, the Model's fighting it-and now Flair with a cheap shot to the Macho Man's back to break that up-and Macho with a tremendous shot to the Nature Boy's face in return! And look at Andre and Yokozuna going at it like two bull elephants in the middle of the ring; they're really landing the big blows on each other!"

"Suffice to say, their matchup has lived up to its advance billing, Gorilla."

"Indeed; now Yokozuna shoves Andre hard into the corner; Andre jumps out of the way before he can be splashed, and now starts ramming Yokozuna's head into the turnbuckle too; Yokozuna's hair's all unspooled by now. There's the clock again; another guy coming out in eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one...and it's the Hulkster!" he roared as the arena absolutely exploded with a loud cheer upon Hulk's first appearance of the evening, "And look, he's bringing Brutus the Barber's shears to ringside with him as a tribute to his good friend."

"This is terrible, Gorilla; he ought to be disqualified right off the bat for bringing deadly weapons like those into the match!"

"Not if he doesn't intend to use them, and the Hulkster laying them on the timekeeper's table after some wild snipping gestures with them. The champ into the ring-and look at that, he immediately eliminates the dazed-looking Saggs!"

"So what; seventeen ain't a good number anyway," Ventura snorted, "He's still not going to win with that number."

"We shall see about that, as Hulk now joins Piper in delivering harsh blows to Ace Orton's chest; I understand Orton's wife and son are in the building; so far this hasn't really been a good evening for them."

"Maybe, but from what I hear, Orton's son's got a lot of talent himself; he might be as big of a star as his father some day."

"Indeed maybe he will. Right now, however, Bob Orton in a whole heap of trouble-and now Hulk waving to Savage to get Flair into position, and-whoa, Orton and Flair thrown hard into each other!"

"Orton better find a way to catch his breath, otherwise he's not going to last much longer."

"Savage now hauling Ace up and dragging him towards the ropes; he's trying to throw him out...but no, Orton with a headbutt, and now he's trying to get the Macho Man over. And look at Yokozuna and Andre still going at it tooth and nail in the corner now; Yoko's trying to shove Andre over the top rope now, but he can't get him off the ground, and neither can Andre the other way. And now our next participant in the Rumble's coming right up in three, two, one...here comes the Warlord," he noted the facepainted wrestler's arrival, "He and the Barbarian, who of course has yet to enter, were just signed by Freddie Blassie to his stable after being released by Mr. Fuji, so this is his first appearance here in the WWF under the tuteledge of Blassie, who no doubt is watching eagerly backstage."

"And a good move by Blassie, since the Powers of Pain give him that strong second tag team to back up the new champions, the Mega Mercenaries; let's see how they do in the Rumble starting with the Warlord right now," Ventura leaned towards his monitor to watch the Warlord leap up onto the apron and roar loudly to the crowd before climbing into the ring...

...where Hulk rushed forward and instantly clotheslined him back over the top rope and out. "WHOA, look at that; that's got to be some kind of record!" Monsoon exclaimed, barely able to be heard over the roar of the ecstatic crowd.

"Of course you know what that shows; that shows Hogan's utter poor sportsmanship!" Ventura complained bitterly, "He couldn't even let the Warlord have any time in there; he had to knock him right out and ruin his whole night before it even starts! THIS is what Hulkamania's really all about, kids; cheating and poor sportsmanship!"

"Regardless of what you think, the Warlord was officially in there all of three seconds, and I do believe that is in fact a record. Hulk rushing over to Andre and nailing Yokozuna as the former sumo champ and the Giant continue pushing each other, trying to eliminate each other against the far ropes-and look out, the both of them in fact go over the top rope together! Andre and Yokozuna just eliminated each other!"

"And that opens up the Rumble awfully wide now that those two heavy favorites are gone."

"Andre looking rather dejected outside the ring; this may have been his last shot at the gold, and it's over. Hulk Hogan meanwhile looking around and seeing Bob Orton trying to eliminate his partner in the Mega Powers on the far side; Hulkster rushing over...and he knocks Orton out with a flying kick to the back...but Savage goes flying out too...!"

"Of course; Hogan had to get rid of all the possible competition, and that includes his so-called best friend the Macho Man. If I were Savage, I'd be really angry right now."

"Now come on, Jesse, that was an accident; he didn't mean to knock the Macho Man out. Besides, let's take a look at the footage here on replay: see, Orton basically dragged Savage out with him."

"And how do you know, Gorilla? Macho's a top rival in Hogan's eyes; he has to get rid of him too."

"I don't know why I bother with you. Hulkster now lunging after Rick Martel while Hot Rod duels with Flair again; the champ with a hard elbow to the Model's face, and now a...hold on, Savage charging back into the ring, and actually, he does look mad..."

"What the hell was that!?" a very furious Savage yanked Hulk around and shouted right in his face, "What the hell was the meaning of that, huh!?"

"Come on, man, I'm, sorry, but he pulled you out with him..." Hulk tried to explain.

"You did that on purpose!" Savage shoved him hard, "I could have had it; I could have had the title...!"

"Get a grip brother, it was an accident; it's just a match!" Hulk shot back.

"You want me to get a grip!? I'll give you a grip-and a knuckle sandwich!" livid, Savage reared his fist back for a hard punch to Hulk's face...


	9. Chapter 9

"Stop, stop, stop!" in a flash, Elizabeth came rushing up the aisle and into the ring, placing herself between both Mega Powers, "Stop, both of you!"

"He threw me out on purpose!" Savage roared, "I could have won it all if he hadn't...!"

"I'm telling you, brother, it was an accident!" Hulk roared back, "Now come on, let it go, it's over now!"

"Not until I at least get a sorry from you, or else!" Savage threatened.

"Randy, please, just let it go!" Elizabeth begged him, taking hold of his arm, "It just wasn't meant to be, all right?"

"Who's side are you on here?" he asked her sharply, making her jump backwards in shock for a moment before pleading, "Randy, it doesn't matter who's right or wrong, OK, it's just a match! You'll get another title shot, I swear! Now please, let's bury the hatchet with him and move on!"

She glanced pleadingly into his eyes, which appeared to do the trick; Savage shook his head in resignation. "Yeah, yeah, she's right, it's just a match; I'm sorry," he mumbled to Hulk, extending a hand, "Still friends, right?"

"You said a lot of rough things there, dude..." Hulk looked unconvinced.

"Hulk, please, just shake it and let's move on," Elizabeth begged him.

"Yes, hurry it up, you fools; I want to finish beating Hogan to a pulp and get him out too!" a frustrated Martel shouted impatiently next to them, forgotten in the spat between the two Mega Powers.

"Oh shut up!" the both of them plus their manager shouted in unison at the Model. Finally, Hulk cracked a small smile and took hold of Savage's outstretched hand. "I am sorry, brother," he told the Macho Man, giving the hand a strong shake as the buzzer sounded and Shawn Michaels emerged from behind the curtain as the next entrant, "It was an accident, though. Better luck next time."

"Yeah, sure, thanks, next time," Savage still looked rather embittered.

"Come on, Randy, we have to go now," Elizabeth led him out of the ring just as Michaels entered and jumped the unsuspecting Martel from behind. "And so, now we're back to the action, with everything apparently back to normal between the Mega Powers after that unfortunate mishap there," Monsoon said at the broadcast position with an audible sigh of relief.

"I don't think so, Gorilla," Ventura was grinning from ear to ear, as if he'd just discovered a gold mine, "I think Hogan wasn't sincere at all there, and Macho should still be mad at him."

"Now come, Jesse; Savage extended the hand of friendship voluntarily; sure, Liz convnced him a little bit, but he did that of his own free accord; how was that not sincere on his part?"

"Because I think there's more to this story than you think, and I'm going to find out more about it later."

"Well in the meantime, let's stick with the task at hand, calling the match, and Shawn Michaels taking it to Rick Martel now, pounding him hard on the back..."

"And take a look at Hogan, just lounging in the corner; he's letting everyone else do the dirty work while he rests up."

"He needs a breather; lest you forget, he expended a lot of energy in there even before he and Savage almost went at it-and see, now he's helping Michaels trying to get Martel out over the top. Martel pressing his arms into the apron, trying to stay in; Hogan and Michaels applying the pressure hard-nope, Flair hurls Piper into both of them, and the Model gets a breather..."

"Martel's got to be close to a record now, Gorilla; it's at least forty minutes for him now."

"Something like that, yes; we'll have to check the record books when we get the chance; Flair now with a headbutt on Michaels, and a scoop slam-and now he, whoa, hurls Michaels hard into the ringpost..."

"WOOOOOO!" Flair roared in celebration of this particular move. He strained to get Michaels out, but a scissor kick to the head by Shawn stopped that attempt. "Michaels back on his feet, and dishing out roundhouse rights to the Nature Boy as the clock starts ticking down again," Monsoon noted, "Entrant Number Twenty's next, and we're reaching the two-third mark in four, three, two, one...and it's 'Hacksaw' Jim Duggan, winner of the very first Royal Rumble, and now trying to win a second, and the world title with it."

"Hacksaw winning the world title would be essentially the end of the world as we know it, Gorilla," Ventura grumbled, "If that moron ever got his hands on the gold..."

"Give him some credit, Jesse; he didn't make it here in the WWF by slouching off; he's a very talented individual in his own right-and he starts off by helping Michaels deal with Flair."

"Oh come and wake up, Gorilla; he's an empty-headed fool!" the Body snapped.

"I see, so you're so jealous of every single man in there that you have to resort to cold-hearted remarks to ease the pain of your frustration of being out of wrestling with all of them, is that it?"

"Monsoon, I'll ask you to stay out of my personal matters and concetrate on the match like you had said," Ventura told him sternly, "And look at Flair; he rams Duggan's and Michaels's heads together; I love it."

"But Michaels flattens the Nature Boy with some Sweet Chin Music, and down goes Flair!" Monsoon roared, "Michaels drapes him over the ropes in the corner and steps aside as Duggan assumes that three point stance across the ring, rushes Flair, and a big splash! Duggan and Michaels lifting him up, trying to get him over the top again...no, Flair rakes both their eyes, and they drop him-and Flair headbutts them both in turn."

"See, this is why he calls himself the Real World's Champion; he can get himself out of these kinds of fixes with brains rather than brawn."

"Across the ring, Hogan and Piper sending Martel for the ride and flip him high-Martel grabs the champ's legs on the fall and tries to get him into a sunset flip over the ropes-no, slug to the face by the Hulkster stops that. Piper and Hogan trying to get Martel out over the top now as the countdown commences again; our next participant is about to appear in six, five, four, three, two, one...uh oh, here comes the Undertaker!" he exclaimed as Bearer led the Deadman out, "Undertaker also a pro at battle royals; let's see if he's got what it takes to win this one."

"Oh you know he does, Gorilla; he's as much a pro at battle royals as Andre, so you know he's a good favorite to go the distance and win the gold."

"Paul Bearer with some last minute instructions to his man before turning around and leaving; Undertaker into the ring quickly, heading for-and he immediately throws Hacksaw over and out!"

"Congrats to the Phenom; he spared the wrestling world from a fate worse than death: Duggan as world champion."

"Undertaker now setting his sights on Michaels; hurls Shawn to the opposite corner, and charges him...no, Shawn out of the way in time-and now he grabs the Deadman's head and pounds it repeatedly into the turnbuckle!"

"But again, the Phenom doesn't feel a thing, Gorilla."

"Undertaker in fact looking unfazed from all that as he now slams Michaels's head into the turnbuckle-and now a chokehold on him. Look at his eyes rolling back into his head as he chokes the life out of Michaels..."

"He's a man who really gets into his work, yeah, and you can bet he's going to make sure Michaels is good and softened up before he gets rid of him."

"IF he can get rid of him, of course. Here comes Piper with an axhandle to the Deadman's head to try and break that up-again no effect...and the Undertaker grabs Hot Rod by the throat and throws him over the top and...no, Piper grabbed the top rope, and now he's swinging himself up to the top of the ringpost! Undertaker looks up-and Hot Rod clamps his feet around the big guy's head and jumps, driving him down to the mat; how about that!?"

"So what; he's getting right back up again," Ventura pointed as the Undertaker immediately started rising up, completely unhurt at all.

"Well at least that took some starch out of him. Piper and Michaels stomping hard on the Deadman's chest, trying to keep him down; another man's coming out in six, five, four, three, two, one...and here comes the Texas Tornado."

"You know, a while back in this match, you claimed the Ultimate Warrior was being ganged up on; now Flair is by Hogan and all his friends, including the Tornado now as he gets into the ring, even if he isn't a member of the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection."

"Not now anyway, but I think Kerry von Erich would make a good member should they need another one. Texas Tornado going straight for Flair, and decks him hard with a roundhouse right; these two really don't like each other either, stemming, from what I've heard, about Flair cheating von Erich out of a title shot in Texas some years back."

"Oh sure, it's always Flair's fault if some guy didn't win the title when he had the chance..."

"Flair off the ropes, ducks under Kerry's Tornado Punch, off the far ropes-straight into the Von Erich Claw!"

"Yeah, that INCREDIBLY fair move the Tornado always pulls out in a pinch; why hasn't he been suspended for it yet?"

"Because it's been deemed a perfectly legal move, Jesse, by the WWF and other wrestling organizations. And there we see Kerry's father, the great Fritz von Erich up there in the upper deck via our cameras, applauding his son on."

"Now Fritz I always liked; he was a good rough houser back in the day; his son, though, not so much; it's clear he's just trading off the family name for glory."

"Oh really? Kerry von Erich giving Flair a backbreaker, and now trying to get him over and out-and Flair bites the nose to stay alive; I can't believe it! Of all the low actions a guy could take...!"

"You mean like the illegal Claw that Tunney lets slide?"

"Will you stop!? Flair now dishing it back to the Texas Tornado-and he's throwing him out now...but Kerry grabs the bottom rope and slides back in. Martel coming over and helping Flair pound away on his back-and here comes the Hulkster, nailing Flair from behind, and now the two of them going at it good; the next guy's on his way out to ringside in four, three, two, one...and it's the Barbarian."

"Now Hogan better treat him an awful lot better than he did the Warlord," Ventura grumbled.

"Barbarian in fact going straight for Hogan, yanking him away from Flair, picks him up and slams him."

"Now don't fool around in there, Barbarian; if I were him, I'd get Hogan out of there as soon as possible."

"Barbarian picks Hulk up, drops him throat-first on the ropes, and now a loud roar to the crowd; not exactly a fast attempt to eliminate the champ if you ask me."

"Well no one is asking you, Gorilla."

"Barbarian and Flair kicking the Hulkster; now they're lifting him up and trying to get him over; Hogan grabbing the apron, trying to stay in; Flair and the Barbarian pouring it on to eliminate the champion, which would be a major upset; they may be getting the upper hand with him here...look out, from behind, Texas Tornado nails the Barbarian with his Tornado Punch, and the Barbarian goes over the top and out; he hardly lasted much longer than his partner the Warlord."

"And just when Hogan was about to be humbled...!" Ventura shouted in frustration.

"Hulkster and the Tornado whip Flair into the far ropes and down him with twin kicks to the face," Monsoon continued, "Now they pick Flair up, carry him across the ring, and hurl him onto the Undertaker's back just as he's about to throw Piper and Michaels out at once."

"But A, both Flair and the Phenom are still in, and secondly, they just woke up a sleeping giant."

"Undertaker in fact lumbering towards them, grabs the Tornado by the throat, and tries to throw him out-von Erich grabbing the bottom rope and holding on for dear life as the clock starts ticking again. We're now up to number twenty-four, and he'll be making an appearance in seven, six, five, four, three, two, one...and it's Tatanka, replacement for the incapacitated Brutus Beefcake."

"Too bad the Ultimate Warrior didn't last this long; the Native American Warrior versus the Ultimate Warrior might have made a nice encounter."

"Indeed it may have. Tatanka immediately jumping on the Undertaker's back, jumping up and down on his shoulders; here comes the Hulkster and Piper as well; they're straining to get the Undertaker out. The force of all three of them causes the big guy to let go of the Tornado, who slips under the ropes and joins them all."

"That is good strategy they've got there; since the Phenom is perhaps the biggest favorite in there right now, better to get rid of him first, then deal with each other."

"Undertaker halfway over the ropes, fighting to survive as all four of them struggle to get him out...and on the other side of the ring, Shawn Michaels sends Rick Martel over the top and out, ending the Model's long night here."

"Did he break the record? That's what I want to know."

"Let's see what they're saying here...close but no cigar; Martel was in there fifty-one minutes, not quite the record. Shawn Michaels heading over to try and help everyone else get rid of the Undertaker, but Flair cuts him off, and the two of them now trading hard blows. Undertaker sliding; he might be about to go over...no, the Deadman abruptly throwing himself backwards and pancaking everyone to the mat!"

"And he's still at full strength if you ask me."

"Undertaker indeed looking quite sharp still as he grabs the Texas Tornado by the throat, and hurls him out of the ring, too far to grab onto anything this time; his night is over."

"Sorry, Fritz, but the better man won," Ventura apologized to the Tornado's father over the air.

"Undertaker has Piper in a chokehold now and trying to get him over-no, Piper hooking his feet around the ropes and striking the big guy in the face; Undertaker apparently feeling none of it. Tatanka and the Hulkster grabbing the legs and trying to fell the big guy as the clock starts again. We're now up to number twenty-five; the field's starting to narrow down now, so only a few choices left for who could be coming out in three, two, one...Brian Knobbs of the Nasty Boys. Let's see if he's in any better shape that his partner seemed to be earlier..."

* * *

><p>"There, there, freeze it there!" the Boss Man ordered the tape operator, who paused the tape at the exact moment the dart hit Hawk in the tag team title match. "OK, bring her back slowly," the former prison guard told the taper operator, who slowly rewound the tape. The Boss Man carefully followed the trajectory of the small red dot until it disappeared from sight. "OK, it looks like it and the one that hit Santana came from around the control room," he announced solemnly.<p>

"All right, now we know what we're up against," Bret nodded firmly.

"So what is this, is someone taking guys out?" McMahon asked, frowning at the footage.

"Call the highest up person you can get, Vince; tell them to scramble security to the control room before somebody else gets hurt," the Hitman instructed him, bustling for the door, "Hawk, Animal, Boss Man, come with me; we'll see what we can do before they get there."

* * *

><p>"There, finished for you," Sherri announced, screwing the silencer on the end of the rifle-the last piece to be added.<p>

"Good," Mr. Hughes took it off her, then grabbed a handful of bullets, "Now we just have to wait until Hogan gets out in the open."

"Not right now; there's way too many guys in front of him from this angle right now," Sherri frowned down at the ring, where Hulk was presently lost in a jumble of bodies.

"We have time," Mr. Hughes cocked the rifle, "If he's not eliminated by the time the last man enters, we take him and anyone else still in there that's on his side out..."

* * *

><p>"...action still hot and heavy as the next guy's coming in four, three, two, one...Luke of the Bushwhackers," Monsoon declared as Luke appeared, also doing the Bushwhacker Bounce as his cousin had earlier. He leaped into the ring...and was immediately seized by the Undertaker around the throat and thrown over the top rope on the other side of the ring for another instant elimination. "Wow, another quick one; who'd've thought there'd be two in one night!?" Monsoon was amazed.<p>

"And look at that moron; I don't think he even knows he was eliminated," Ventura pointed mockingly at Luke, still bouncing his way back down the aisle and through the curtain.

"Well, who can blame him if he wanted to make the best of a losing situation; the fans clearly still love what he does nonetheless. Back in the ring, Flair hitting Piper with an axhandle to the back of the head, and Piper nails him back in turn; Hulk pounding the Undertaker's head off the turnbuckle, to no apparent effect, and Knobbs and Michaels are trading blows on the other side of the ring-and here comes Tatanka nailing Knobbs in the back. Knobbs spins around and gets a hard tomahawk chop to the face-and then another, and another. Michaels gives him an atomic drop, and Knobbs stumbles over to the ropes; Tatanka and Michaels trying to shove him out-Flair nails them both to break it up. And look at this, Piper gets in a shot to Michaels when he least expected it."

"That's what I used to like about Hot Rod; the surprise factor that he used to have before Hogan made him dial it down for the damn kids."

"And for all you youngsters out there watching, please disregard Jesse the Body's remarks; we here at the World Wrestling Federation greatly appreciate your patronage and want you to keep coming to our shows and watching our specials. Michaels looks upset at the surprise attack, and now he and Hot Rod are going at it full tilt; whoa, they're really trading blows there..."

"Now if they'd just forget each other and do it to Hogan."

"Can't you leave Hulk Hogan alone for just one minute?"

"No, I can't, because he has what should have been mine, Gorilla. At least I can take comfort know everyone left to enter the Rumble is a sworn enemy of his; one of them has to be able to eliminate him."

"Four men left to enter the Rumble," Monsoon rolled his eyes at his partner's cold bias towards the champion, "We still have the Honky Tonk Man, Hercules, Ted DiBiase, and Earthquake remaining, and as Jesse noted, all of them hate Hulk Hogan for one reason or another. The clock's ticking down once more; we'll see who's in fact next in five, four, three, two, one...hang on to something solid, here comes the Earthquake!" he proclaimed as the Walking Natural Disaster stomped furiously down the aisle towards the ring.

"Oh yeah, good draw here," Ventura rubbed his hands eagerly, "If he can't get rid of Hogan off the bat, he can at least get rid of some of his stooges in there."

"Earthquake scanning the ring for an opponent, and he goes straight for Tatanka and downs the Native American Warrior from behind with a cheap shot headbutt..."

"Now how do you know it was a cheap shot headbutt, Gorilla? It could have been one of the more regular headbutts?"

"Will you stop!? And now look what he's doing; Earthquake doing like Jake did earlier, hooking Tatanka's throat on the ropes and jumping up and down on his back; this guy's a plain old fashioned sadistic brute-and now he's got Tatanka raised high in the air, and a tremendous bodyslam!"

"A terrific bodyslam there by Earthquake, and I think he just hurt Tatanka bad."

"But that's not enough for Earthquake; here come the tremors," Monsoon sighed as Earthquake started stomping around the groaning Tatanka, "Tatanka about to get a full-on ten on the Richter Scale-right now! Earthquake laughing coldly-and more tremors! He's going to give him another one!"

"Well of course he is, Gorilla; he always gives his opponent more than one Earthquake."

"Earthquake bouncing off the ropes-and look at that, Hulk sticks out his leg and trips him before he could land the second Earthquake!"

"MORE cheating by Hogan! How in the world can his lunatic fans stand him?"

"Earthquake livid, swings a tremendous right at Hulk that hits the Undertaker instead! Undertaker livid now too; slaps the chokehold on Earthquake, who kicks him hard in the chest to no apparent effect..."

"Stop fighting each other, you idiots; finish Hogan and Tatanka!"

"Too late now; Earthquake picks the Undertaker up and gives him a tremendous bodyslam of his own...and the Undertaker rising right back up as if nothing happened! Kick to the face by Earthquake does nothing to him either! Hard blow to Earthquake's chest by the Undertaker, who now goes off the ropes-and he gives him that flying chokeslam! And Earthquake is down through the ropes!"

"Down through the bottom rope, let's point out, so he can come right back in."

"Earthquake indeed climbing back in, looking around for someone other than the Undertaker to fight at the moment; Tatanka still lying flat in the middle of the ring, and it looks like the Walking Natural Disaster's eyes are zeroing in there as the clock starts up again. Three guys left now to come in; let's see who's going to be number twenty-eight in five, four, three, two, one...and it's the Honky Tonk Man."

"Too bad Savage and Jake are gone; Honky hates both of them; he'll have to make do with somebody else now."

"Honky Tonk Man going straight for Piper and swings a hard right at him that misses-and Piper picks him up and gives him an atomic drop for his trouble. Honky stumbling around the ring-as Earthquake in fact throws Tatanka out, and Tatanka still looks like he's unconscious from the Earthquake he took; the medics better come and take a look at him."

"Well Gorilla, when you play the game, you run the risk of that happening. Beefcake ought to count himself lucky he's in the hospital right now; that could have been him if he'd been in there."

"Could have been anyone, in fact. Honky Tonk Man now taking a hard blow from Shawn Michaels, sending him reeling back towards Piper, who decks him back towards Michaels, who decks him back towards Hot Rod, who decks him back towards Michaels; Honky Tonk Man learning what it's like inside a pinball machine right now."

"Well don't count him out because he's hit a rough patch right now, Gorilla; he wasn't the longest-serving Intercontinental champion for nothing, you know."

"Yeah, I know, because he'd always get himself disqualified or counted out to save the title; that's how he lasted so long. Honky's pinball experience ends with a scoop slam by Piper, and now he and Michaels trying to throw Honky out already. Honky Tonk Man digging into the ropes, his feet kicking like crazy-and from behind, Flair and Knobbs try and throw Piper and Michaels out-but no dice, both men grab the ropes."

"Now, if I were Honky, I'd try and team up with either Knobbs or Flair for the time being here; if they work together, they can get rid of both Piper and Michaels and leave Hogan on his own here."

"Brian Knobbs in fact hauling Piper up by the hair to give him a few quick shots to the...look out; Hot Rod flips him over his head, and Knobbs is out of here!"

"Well, good move there by Hot Rod; he caught Knobbs napping. I guess that's the last of the tag teamers gone now."

"Indeed so; all solo competitors in there now. Piper now with a flying leap on top of Flair from outside the ropes, and starts whaling away on him. The countdown's begun once more: it'll either be the Million Dollar Man or Hercules coming out next in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two one...and it's Herc," he declared as Hercules rushed through the curtain.

"And that means DiBiase drew number thirty; boy, he sure lucked out," Ventura exclaimed.

"Lucked out? Maybe too much so," Monsoon was frowning deeply, "What an incredible coincidence for Ted DiBiase to get the last ball, something he's done before under rather dubious circumstances, when precautions had been taken to ensure he wouldn't get that last number again."

"Oh sure, because DiBiase has all the money he does, he automatically cheats his way to the last number, is that it?"

"I suspect as much, because history has shown that's _exactly_ what Ted DiBiase would do in a battle royal such as this. He'll be entering in about a minute and forty-five seconds as Hercules starts attacking Earthquake right off the bat. Earthquake spins around and slaps him hard enough to go flying halfway across the ring. Herc right back to his feet, charging at the big guy-and Earthquake throws him high over the top rope...Hercules just manages to catch the bottom rope and avoid instant elimination. Earthquake trying to stomp on his hand to make him let go; Hercules obligingly crawling along the apron, now up to the top rope; looks like he's angling for the Hulkster near the far side. Hercules measures him, and here he goes...and Hulk turns and sees him, and gives him a hard slug in the gut on the way down!"

"Poor judgment by Hercules; he telegraphed the move too much and took too much time executing it."

"Hulkster dragging Herc towards the ropes, trying to get him over the top. Hercules fighting it; Hogan pushing hard-and a blow to the back of the head by the Honky Tonk Man to break that up-and Hulk grabs him and tries to throw _him_ over the top rope as well! Hogan trying to push both men out at once-and gets picked up from behind by the Undertaker and flung hard into the ringpost; ouch, that hurt!"

"Oh yeah, Gorilla, now if I were the Deadman, I'd get rid of him quick."

"Undertaker kicking Hogan in the chest; meanwhile, Hercules and the Honky Tonk Man climbing back into the ring-and Herc kicks Honky in the chest, and now they're going at it good and hard. Piper and Flair, who's now the longest in there at close to half an hour, whaling away at each other in the corner, while Shawn Michaels whips Earthquake into the ropes, ducks under the big guy's clothesline, and gives him a flying dropkick in the chest that staggers Earthquake, but doesn't send him down yet. And here's the final countdown of the night coming our way; whether fairly or not, Ted DiBiase will be the last man to enter the Royal Rumble in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two one...and here he comes with Virgil."

"And look how confident DiBiase looks; he knows he's going in extremely fresh, and thus has a really good chance of finally winning the world title."

"And if he does, it'll be a black day for the World Wrestling Federation indeed. DiBiase climbs in, and there, ladies and gentlemen, are the final nine competitors; one of them will walk out of here as world champion; we're now going until there's just one man left standing...but look at this, Virgil taking a seat at ringside; what's going on here?" he demanded, frowning at the sight of Virgil now watching the action next to the timekeeper's table, "He's not allowed here; no managers at ringside means no bodyguards either!"

"Well, he's not hurting anyone just sitting there, Gorilla, so until he actually chooses to get involved in the match, I say let him be."

"Virgil's boss meanwhile rushing over to help the Undertaker pound the Hulkster; Million Dollar Man in fact landing a few hard ones into the champ's chest...and look at this, Undertaker grabs Hulk by the throat and lifts him well off the ground...!"

"Here we go, finally a nice, clear shot," Mr. Hughes grinned darkly in the control room, cocking his rifle and aiming it at the now unobstructed Hulk...


	10. Chapter 10

...when suddenly there came a loud pounding on the control room door. "All right you, we know you're in there; surrender!" barked a gruff voice. Mr. Hughes spun and started peppering the door with lead. This, however, only led to more bullets coming through the door the other way, which did not hit him or Sherri (who frantically rushed for the closet again and slammed the door shut), but sent sparks flying from the equipment that was being hit. With a loud crash, the door burst open, and a swarm of security officers stormed the control room. Mr. Hughes leveled the rifle at them, but several guards knocked it out of his hands before he could fire. "Here," Bret swept into the room, grabbing the gun in midair and handing it to one of the officers. "Aha," he picked up Mr. Hughes's briefcase from the floor, "Looks like a dart gun in here all right, Hawk, Animal."

"It is, is it?" Hawk was glaring as he stormed towards the struggling Mr. Hughes, "So, you think shooting me and Animal with darts to cheat us out of the belts is fun?" he roared in the enforcer's face, "Weeeeeeeellllllllll, what you're going to get from Animal and me is more than fun, it's really more like, OOOOOOOOOOOHHH, WHAT A RUSH!"

Roaring, Mr. Hughes broke free and swung a punch at him, but Hawk flung him high over his head-so high that Mr. Hughes cracked his head off the ceiling before starting downwards-before Animal grabbed him in midair and spiked him down hard to the floor. He then hefted the enforcer onto his shoulders while Hawk climbed up on the audio table and delivered a spot-on Doomsday Device to the man who'd cost them the tag titles. Mr. Hughes dug into his pockets and started to pull out another gun. "Oh no you don't, boy!" the Boss Man whacked this gun away with his nightstick and handcuffed Mr. Hughes to the doorknob, "Or, should I say, Curtis C. Hughes, wanted for murder and fight fixing?"

"You're too late; the WWF is dead," Mr. Hughes muttered defiantly, "It may be tonight-it'll probably be tonight-but the New World Order is coming to wrestling some day very soon, and you'll all be history, swept aside. The boss'll make sure of that even if I'm locked up."

"And who is this boss of yours?" the head security guard demanded.

"I'll never tell, I'll never tell," Mr. Hughes laughed mockingly.

"Oh I think you will, boy. Take him down to the Miami police station and work him over good," the Boss Man unlocked Mr. Hughes from the door and cuffed his hands behind his back before shoving him to the guards.

"Don't worry, Mr. Traylor; if this is Curtis C. Hughes, then we'll take extra care to make sure he tells us all he knows," the security chief assured him. "Let's go," he dragged Mr. Hughes out the door. "That was close," the Hitman breathed in relief, "Who knows who might have just been shot down there?"

"It's a good thing all of you were paying attention on the monitors, or we'd never have been alerted to any of this," another guard commended them.

"Hey, an officer like me always is on watch to maintain law and order; when a problem's brought to my attention, I solve it as best I can," the Boss Man said proudly.

"Sure, not like we didn't help at all," Animal grumbled.

"He included you and Hawk with that, Animal," Bret assured them. He took a glance out the window at the action in the ring. "Well, let's hope Hulk or Roddy can pull it off; I don't like the odds against either of them in there right now," he admitted, concerned.

"You're not rooting for Michaels at all? Thought you would have; he's a good enough competitor to work on his own," Hawk pointed out.

"Well, yeah, Hawk, Shawn's a good athlete, but the thing is...I'm not quite convinced on him, not really convinced at all," Bret confessed, "Almost like he can't be trusted in the clutch to do the right thing..."

"Well, whether he can or not, I guess our work here's done," the Boss Man started out the door. The others fell into line after him, none of them turning to see Sherri quickly bolt out of the control room behind them, undetected. "What do you think he meant by a New World Order coming?" Animal had to ask as they all started down the stairs, "That didn't sound too promising..."

"Yeah, I know, Animal, so Hughes can't have been working alone," Bret shook his head, "I know the mob's been heavy into wrestling for years-not in Stampede, mind you; my father made sure organized crime had no part in his operation-and somebody big might be wanting to move in on the WWF. And if the wrong person wins the Rumble tonight, who knows; it might well be the beginning of something bad..."

* * *

><p>"Action still running hot and heavy in the ring right now," Monsoon continued the match commentary, "All nine finalists still going strong with each other; Ted DiBiase delivering sharp blows to Hulk Hogan in the corner; Million Dollar Man mimes putting on the world championship belt, but he doesn't have it yet. DiBiase takes hold of the champ's arm and hurls him hard into the far corner."<p>

"Hogan looks winded; it's only a matter of time before DiBiase or somebody else gets rid of him," Ventura predicted confidently.

"You've said that before both in this match and in previous matches. Many of those times, though, the Hulkster has managed to dig down for a little something extra to go the distance; let's see if he's got it here."

"Not at the moment, though; DiBiase up on his shoulders and slugging away."

"Across the ring, Hercules and the Honky Tonk Man teaming up on Shawn Michaels, slugging him hard in the chest. Now they whip him into the ropes and down him with a double kick to the face. Herc hauls him up-and slaps on the full nelson. Michaels fighting it as best he can; Herc pouring it on hard. Honky Tonk Man giving Michaels more blows to the chest; now he's measuring him, goes off the far ropes, I think he's going to ram him in the chest-but Michaels turns around and he rams Herc in the back instead! Hercules lets go of the full nelson...and Michaels picks him up and hurls him out of the ring!"

"Bad break there for Hercules; he could have gone far."

"His night's over, and Michaels going after the Honky Tonk Man now, hitting him with a combination of lefts and rights. Over in the far part of the ring, Piper and the Undertaker are also trading blows; Hot Rod gets the Deadman up for an atomic drop; Undertaker stumbles, but stays on his feet-and now he hits Hot Rod with another chokehold. Piper gasping in agony as the life's choked out of him. Undertaker lifts him up and tries to dump him out; Roddy fighting it hard, grabbing onto the middle rope-and he starts kicking the Undertaker in the face, which makes him let go. Hot Rod rams him in the chest, tries to flip him over the top like he did earlier with Knobbs-no, Undertaker instead flips him over and in."

"Went to the well once too often there."

"Undertaker going airborne over Piper-and Piper rolls out of the way in time."

"Still no injury to the Phenom; he's getting right to his feet."

"Piper abandoning the Undertaker for now, rushing over and pulling DiBiase off Hogan in the corner. Hot Rod picks the Million Dollar Man up, and a big slam on him. He drapes him over the ropes and tries to push him out; Hogan joins in as well, they're pushing...and look at this, Virgil up and over to the ring, and he's trying to push his boss back in; give me a break!"

"Hey, he's just doing what DiBiase paid him to do, Gorilla."

"Hulkster and Hot Rod still seem to have the advantage here, and...look out, Earthquake charging at them from behind, and he pancakes all three of them into the ropes! All three men go over the top, but stay on the apron. Earthquake nailing Hogan as...look at this, Virgil yanks Hot Rod down off the apron!"

"And he's gone, Gorilla; both feet touched the floor."

"He shouldn't have been put in this situation in the first place; Virgil had no business being at ringside! Piper looking hot indeed-and now he's got a steel chair, and he's chasing Virgil around the ring and down the aisle! Virgil may have just made a fatal mistake!"

"Well if Piper touches one hair on his head, he's got a big suspension coming."

"So should Virgil!"

"For what!? And Jack Tunney didn't see nothing sitting on the other side of the ring."

"Maybe not, but he'll see the tape in the end, and hopefully strong action against Virgil will be taken. The Hulkster now being double teamed by Earthquake and DiBiase, who strain to get him over the top rope..."

"Let's see Hogan stand up against the colossal power of Earthquake and the million dollar strength of the Million Dollar Man."

"Hulkster going over...going over...and here comes Shawn Michaels, who nails the Million Dollar Man in the back. DiBiase spins and shoves Michaels hard to the ground, then stomps on the chest..."

"Forget him; finish Hogan; I want Hogan out!" Ventura shouted at the Million Dollar Man.

"Hogan still in a load of trouble at the hands of Earthquake, so DiBiase concentrating on Shawn Michaels. Million Dollar Man drops the elbow on Michaels, and now turns him upside-down for a piledriver-and a beauty. DiBiase mimes putting on the world championship belt again, and now he's dragging Michaels towards the ropes-Michaels grabs the top rope and blocks him. DiBiase frustrated, pushing harder, trying to get him off his feet..."

"Look, Earthquake's about to eliminate Hogan; the reign of terror is over!" Ventura pointed excitedly to the near ropes, where Earthquake almost had Hulk all the way out.

"Earthquake with one final shove, and the Hulkster goes over...no, he grabs the bottom rope, saving himself by the narrowst of margins..."

"Stomp on the hands, Earthquake; all you need are for both his feet to touch the floor!"

"Earthquake going for the stomp...but Hogan grabs the leg! Earthquake shaking it trying to make him let go; Hulkster does let go, but starts climbing up to the top rope. A very high risk maneuver coming against the big guy...and Hulkster goes airborne and nails Earthquake hard in the head-and Earthquake goes down! Earthquake down hard on the mat as the champ punches away on his head...!"

"I don't believe it; why won't he just give up and quit!?" Ventura muttered in disgust.

"He knows everyone in this arena is pulling for him, and he won't quit on them as long as there's a drop of blood in his body-and look at this across the ring; Honky Tonk Man nails Ted DiBiase just as he was finally getting Shawn Michaels off his feet. DiBiase upset, and gives the Honky Tonk Man a hard roundhouse right, now a dropkick too. Honky down on the mat as DiBiase picks him up, spins him around over his head, and throws him out; we're down to six guys now."

"Big mistake by Honky there; he should have worked with DiBiase instead of against him."

"DiBiase laughing hard; he knows he's one step closer to the title now. He turns his sights back to Michaels-and Michaels flattens him with a forearm smash. Shawn Michaels with another wind, stomping on the Million Dollar Man's chest...but here comes Flair from behind, and he shoves Michaels over the top rope and out...!"

"WOOOOOOOOO!" Flair shouted in delight, pumping his fist in the air. "And you notice, Gorilla, Michaels was Hogan's last friend in there," Ventura grinned darkly, "He's now on his own in there against four of the best members of the Million Dollar Corporation."

"Flair, DiBiase, and the Undertaker converging on the Hulkster as he continues pounding away on Earthquake, oblivious that Michaels, his last ally, is now gone-and the Undertaker yanks him up off Earthquake-and there's a chokeslam on the champ!"

"Now don't turn on each other until he's gone! Finish him, and finish him as a team!" the Body urged the Million Dollar Corporation.

"Million Dollar Man getting the next shot at the champion; turns Hogan over, and here comes another piledriver. Ted DiBiase drops the elbow on Hogan's chest as Flair grabs the legs; are we going to see the Hulkster get the Figure Four Leglock?"

"Whatever it takes to weaken him; take it to him, Flair!"

"WOOOOOO!" Flair shouted again just before slapping on the Figure Four. Hulk fought hard to get out of it...but that became a moot point when Earthquake came crashing down hard on his chest. "Terrible blow there to Hogan; he's grimacing in agony now from that," Monsoon grimaced himself.

"I think a ten on the Richter scale ought to be a good next move," Ventura opined.

"Will you stop!? Not when he's a helpless man in the Figure Four Leglock! DiBiase coming off the ropes and going airborne over the Hulkster; that's going to hurt even more. Flair still pouring on the Figure Four-now he lets it go. Flair and DiBiase haul the Hulkster up, whip him off the far ropes...and here comes the Undertaker off the near ropes, and Hogan goes down to that flying chokeslam!"

"I love it; give him more!"

"And more coming; Earthquake sending out more tremors! Hulk Hogan perhaps about to indeed get a ten on the Richter scale as Earthquake goes off the ropes-down hard on the chest!"

"It's over; Hulkamania's dead! Long live the Million Dollar Corporation; it doesn't matter which of these guys becomes champion. All I know is we'll finally have a real, honorable champion any moment now."

"Earthquake lifting the Hulkster up over his head; if he's got anything left, now's the time to bring it to the front. Earthquake gives him a backbreaker, and a beauty, and now he's up again..."

"He's going to throw him out; Hulkamania dies right now!"

"Earthquake measuring the distance and throws the Hulkster over the top rope, raising his arms in...NO, HOGAN CAUGHT THE BOTTOM ROPE!" he exclaimed as the arena exploded, "AND LOOK AT THIS, HOGAN IMMEDIATELY SWINGING BACK UP OVER THE TOP ROPE INTO THE RING; I THINK HE'S GETTING THAT SECOND BURST OF ENERGY!"

"IT'S NOT POSSIBLE!" Ventura roared, shocked, "HE TOOK THE SHELLACKING OF A LIFETIME! HOW THE HELL IS HE STILL SURVIVING!?"

"Wild look on the Hulkster's face as he sees the members of the Million Dollar Corporation now brawling with each other, thinking it's only themselves left...and he grabs DiBiase from behind and throws the Million Dollar Man out right away; listen to this crowd go crazy!"

"That was cheap; he attacked a man from behind!" Ventura bellowed furiously, "He calls himself a champion!? Eliminate him, somebody!"

"Undertaker lands a hard blow to the Hulkster's face, but Hogan didn't feel it-and he doesn't feel a tremendous blow from Earthquake either! Hulkster shaking his finger at both of them and Flair, and now flattens the Undertaker with a clothesline!"

"Getting right back up, though..."

"Flair flattened as well, and Hogan now off the ropes and rams Earthquake hard in the chest, wobbling the big guy hard...!"

"But look, Earthquake slaps the chokehold on him; that'll slow him down good."

"Earthquake picks the champ up and slams him down hard. Now picks him up, whips him towards the ropes...no, Hogan reverses him and sends him into the ropes, and shoves him from behind for extra speed...AND EARTHQUAKE CRASHES HARD INTO THE UNDERTAKER AND FLAIR, AND ALL THREE OF THEM GO FLYING OVER THE TOP OUT OF THE RING!" Monsoon roared as the arena exploded with an unprecidented cheer, "IT'S OVER!"

"He cheated, I don't know how, but I know he cheated!" Ventura shouted, utter frustration on his face as the bell rung and "Real American" cranked up over the sound system, "He needs to be disqualified somehow...!"

"He won't be, Jesse, because everything he did was perfectly legal. Hulk Hogan is still champion, and what a terrific way to retain it," Monsoon couldn't help breaking into applause as the referee handed Hulk the belt, which he thrust high into the air to a terrific cheer from the crowd. Smiling, Finkel climbed into the ring himself and took hold of the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen," he declared grandly, "the winner of the Royal Rumble, and STIIIIIIIIIILL World Wrestling Federation Champion, the Immortal Hulk Hogan!"

"This is utterly ridiculous! This is a travesty of epic proportions!" Ventura roared furiously, "Hogan should have been forced to step aside if the belt was on the line! Instead, he STILL walks out of here as champion by nothing more than SHEER DUMB LUCK!"

"And it was all done legally, Jesse, so you can't complain," Monsoon told him calmly.

"Oh yeah!? Well I'm going to say what's on my mind right now, whether the damn kids like it or not: as far as I'm concerned, Hulk Hogan and every single of one of his Pukesters are complete pieces of...!" Ventura started to bellow. In the production truck, the director frantically jammed his thumb down on the censor button before the curse could come out, bleeping it out-as well as the rest of the the obscenity-laden rant Ventura continued to spew until he realized he was being censored. "**WHAT IS THIS!?"** the Body roared angrily once he realized almost nothing he'd said had gotten out on the air, "HOW DARE THE WWF CENSOR ME!"

"It's called good decorum, Jesse, and you're showing none of it right now," Monsoon was starting to look frustrated himself now.

"I'll show you and Tunney good decorum, Monsoon, you mother-!" his broadcast partner shouted at him, prompting the director to quickly bleep him out again-and continue bleeping him as the obscenities kept coming nonstop for close to a minute and a half. "All right, have it your way, Tunney!" Ventura shouted in frustration, "You want to silence Jesse Ventura, go right ahead! But my voice will still be heard, and Hogan will not win the war! I'm out of here!"

"Where do you think you're going; the broadcast isn't over yet!" Monsoon shouted after Ventura as he got up and stormed away from the broadcast position.

"It is for me, and I'm going wherever I damn well please! Good night, Gorilla!" the Body shouted coldly at him, disappearing into the crowd. 'Well, there you have it, everyone, Jesse 'the Body' Ventura not happy that Hulk Hogan has retained his world title; looking around, though, he's clearly in the minority here at Miami Arena," Monsoon started the close, looking nonetheless glad to be rid of Ventura for the moment, "Hulkster putting the world title on again now, and look at this, he's bringing Brutus 'the Barber' Beefcake's shears into the ring and clipping them in the air as a tribute to his friend; now that's a good gesture for you from a true champion. We'd like to thank you for joining us this evening, and hope you've enjoyed this broadcast of the Royal Rumble; join us again in two months for the granddaddy of them all, Wrestlemania. For all of us here with the World Wrestling Federation, this is Gorilla Monsoon wishing all of you a very happy good night."

* * *

><p>"So it was some guy shooting at us from the control room, then?" Tito asked Bret gravely back in the locker room.<p>

"Looks like it," the Hitman nodded solemnly, "And it looks like he was there all night. So for all of us," he glanced at the entire Rock 'n Wrestling Connection around the locker room, "In the near future, watch your backs when you're in the ring; we don't know if this is connected to anything bigger."

"Too bad I didn't see him up there sooner," Tito mumbled bitterly, rubbing his rear end, "Maybe I could have gone all the way..."

"How do you think I feel, pal; if Virgil hadn't stuck his mitts into the Rumble, it could have been me with the belt," Piper muttered, slugging the nearest locker hard, "I don't know what makes him tick, why he's so happy being DiBiase's lapdog...!"

"Well Roddy, you did good either way," Elizabeth tried to console him, "You all did good," she told the entire Connection, "Now we can get back to..."

The locker room door swung open. "Hulk Hogan, champion again; how does it feel?" an ecstatic Okerlund asked the champion as he strode into the locker room, the belt draped over his shoulder and Beefcake's shears still in hand.

"It's a wonderful feeling, Mean Gene," Hulk happily proclaimed into the interviewer's microphone, "Like I always tell the little Hulkamaniacs, the prayers, the training, and the vitamins can take you all the way to the top, and it feels great to have reached the top again after having survived against the best the WWF has to offer..."

There came a loud slam as Savage jumped up and stormed out the door, a look of frustration on his face, closing it hard behind him. Hulk was taken aback for a minute, but then continued, "And I'd also like to thank the rest of the Mega Powers Rock 'n Wrestling Connection, the best teammates anyone could have."

"Thanks, Hulkster," Andre cracked a small smile, "Good to know you do appreciate us."

"Darned right I do, big guy," Hulk patted the Giant on the back. He slid alongside Elizabeth and whispered in her ear, "Randy OK?"

"I hope so," she looked worried at her husband's abrupt exit from the locker room, "I've never seen him this upset before. You know, seeing everything go the way it did during the Rumble, seeing us vying with each other for the gold, maybe it would be better if they switched the Rumble for a title shot rather than for the title itself; that might get rid of the jealousies."

"Well, at least it's over now, Liz," Bret let out an audible sigh of relief behind her, "Once it recedes into the past, Randy should snap out of it. Hopefully it'll be smooth sailing from here on either way now that this plot got thwarted, and they haven't got any other bad ideas left..."

* * *

><p>"Hurry up, hurry up, we've got to be on the plane and out of the city before the cops learn anything," Don Vincenelli waved his men hard into their limousines outside the Ritz-Carlton.<p>

"Mr. Hughes ain't gonna talk, Boss," one of them reasoned as he rushed by.

"I know he won't, but the feds have ways of getting confessions out of people...Killer, where are you, Killer?" the don looked around for his porcupine, finding Killer nosing around in the bushes by the front door. He seized the porcupine and rushed for his own limo. "Go," he instructed the driver once he was inside, slamming the door shut just as the limo peeled out into traffic for the airport. "I can't believe Hogan survived again to keep the belt," he muttered under his breath.

"Strange odds, huh boss?" one of the other mobsters in the limo spoke up, "We'll at least now we have the tag belts through the Sheik and Volkoff..."

"Yeah, it's a start, but I need the world title," Don Vincenelli muttered, staring out at the scenery whipping by outside, "How can Hogan survive everything!? There's got to be some way we can get him out of the way and consolidate a grip on the WWF."

"Well, on the plus side, Uncle Kenny, it's looking like we might be chasing the only game in town soon; the Southwest territory just went under," Stefano consulted the sports page in the newspaper their chief bodyguard Patrizio was reading, "Couple that with the Florida territory going under with Grammachi's death, and we're standing on the edge of a monopoly worth billions soon. From what it says here, New Stampede and ICW are just about broke too, and even the AWA might fold; never thought I'd see that ever happen."

"Me neither, Stefano, but again, it comes back to Hogan; he's the main stumbling block," the don mumbled, "He can't be bought, he won't take dives; he keeps winning in the clutch; how do you stop him?"

The limo's phone rang at that moment. "We're busy!" Stefano snapped into the receiver once he'd picked it up. His expression then went wide. "And you're completely calling on your own; nobody's listening in on this? Well, OK then. Here, Uncle Kenny," he handed his uncle the phone, "This might be what we're looking for."

"We'll see," Don Vincenelli wasn't as confident as he took the phone, "Who's this?" he barked into the receiver.

"It's Bruce Hart, Don Vincenelli," came the tentative voice of Bret's second oldest brother on the other end, "I'm calling from a phone booth by the Saddledome; no one can trace this call. Listen, I'm in deep trouble fiscally up here with New Stampede; if I were to help you, could you help me?"

"That would depend, Hart," the don shifted around in his seat, "What are you offering?"

"Hogan. I watched the Royal Rumble with my family; I couldn't believe he'd survived either..."

"And what's the point, Hart?" the don barked impatiently.

"I think I might know a way to get the title off Hogan," Bruce whispered nervously, "It's something we experimented with in Stampede a while back when my father was still in charge; it worked then for dramatic effect; I think it could work for real in the WWF with the right people. If I give it to you, I'd like in return a guaranteed loan for at least the next five years to ensure Stampede stays alive, and a guarantee no one gets hurt doing this."

"Well, what's the idea then, Hart?" Don Vincenelli inquired. Dropping his voice low, Bruce whispered the idea into the receiver. The don chuckled when he'd finished. "You know, Hart, you're really more talented than your father gives you credit for," he told Bruce warmly, "Well, if this works, not only will you get the money for Stampede you want, but I'll make sure to angle you into a high-level position in the WWF as well once I have control."

"And no one gets hurt, right?" Bruce emphasized.

"No one's getting hurt, Hart. Thanks for calling; this might be the one thing that changes the world of wrestling for good," the don told him in closing, hanging up. "Just in our darkest hour, boys, we may have some light," he told everyone in the limo with him, "That was Bruce Hart, willing to sell out his brother's friends to keep his promotion afloat, and he's got the perfect plan to get the belt off Hogan."

He told his goons the plan as well. "It's brilliant, Uncle Kenny," Stefano snapped his fingers excitedly, "And I know the perfect guy to bring in for it..."

"Hold that thought, Stefano; here we are," Don Vincenelli noticed they were arriving at the airport, and his private plane was visible on the runway ahead of them. The mobsters all piled out of their limos and bustled quickly towards it...

"Don Vincenelli," came the shout from the gate. It was Ventura, huffing as he ran up from a taxi parked outside towards the don. "I'd heard you were leaving from here. Before you go, I want you to know, I have a brilliant idea of how to get rid of Hogan, and I want to help bring him down if you like it," the Body told him, a devious grin spreading across his face.

"Well, we've got a plan formulating right now, Ventura..." Stefano started to tell him.

"And we're open to any new ones too, Stefano," his uncle held up his hand. "You've got a flight booked out of Miami soon, Jesse?" he asked the commentator.

"Not in the foreseeable future."

"Come along with me and tell me what you've got, then," Don Vincenelli put an arm around Ventura and led him towards his private plane.

"Well, ever since he became champion, you've thrown everything you've got at Hogan, and it hasn't stopped him so far, hasn't it?" Ventura continued, his dark smile getting wider, "Even though I'm no longer technically working for the Vincenelli Family since my career in the ring ended, I still know you've been wanting to get your hands on the WWF, and that doing so means getting Hogan, whom neither of us can stand, out of the picture. Well, I've been seeing things unfold in the ring for a while now, and after what I saw during tonight's card, I think know Hogan's one big weakness. And it's spelled E-L-I-Z-A-B-E-T-H."

"What about her?" a goon asked as they all climbed on the plane.

"I want some guarantees first," Ventura held up his hand, "In exchange for getting rid of Hogan, whom both of us agree is the worst thing to ever happen to wrestling, I want a position of high authority under your New World Order WWF-I want Tunney's position as president, and I want actual power as president; no puppet crap."

"Well, Jesse, if your idea works, I think that's very much in play," Don Vincenelli assured him, pouring them both glasses of bourbon, "Now, tell me how the First Lady of Wrestling can destroy Hulk Hogan..."

THE END-OF THE ROYAL RUMBLE

TO BE OTHERWISE CONTINUED...


End file.
